Blood and Gold
by athos-aramis
Summary: The Night Mother spoke.  As Listener, she obeyed.  Yet, a simple contract throws the Listener, simply known as Alor, into a den of thieves and into the path of Brynjolf.  Set a few years after Alduin's death.  Dark Elf dragonborn x Brynjolf
1. Prologue

**Prologue **

It was suppose to be an easy mark. The Night Mother had whispered the name of the contact seven nights prior. Riften wasn't so far away by horse, but the Listener preferred to go on foot, adding a day to the journey. Everything seemed normal. A sniveling, nervous Breton spouting off his reasons for wanting some woman dead followed by the customary exchange of gold for a life.

The Listener was disappointed that the weak Breton didn't have enough fire in him to even demand a particular torture or method. The assassination of Niruin appeared to be a dull one for the young Dumner. Yet, it was the will of Sithis and the order of the Night Mother to carry out the contract, dull or not.

Unfortunately, the stupid Breton hadn't mentioned that the small Bosmer would be hard to access. He had made the ratway seem so penetrable, as if breaking into a den of thieves was no small thing.

_Fool._ She thought to herself as she watched the ratway entrance from the shadows. She was a fine sneak, perhaps the best, but sneaking around a clan of sneaks and cutthroats was tricky business. Those that lived in the shadows tended to notice small changes in the air or a shift in the darkness. _And the last thing the Brotherhood needs is a band of thieves with a blood grudge._

It was this conflict that sent her back to Dawnstar where she conferred with Nazir and Babette on how to handle the contract. It was they who decided it would be in the best interest of the Brotherhood to infiltrate the Thieves Guild and carry out the contract slowly. Even Cicero agreed to the plan, so long as the Listener would return once a month to hear the Night Mother.

_And now I'm stuck here, _the assassin thought bitterly. _Stuck on a stupid contract indefinitely. I doubt Banus Alor was forced to mix with common thieves_.

The thought of her long dead ancestor and former Listener made the work even more unwanted. She liked a challenge, but she liked them to move quickly and require quick thoughts and actions, not a long, drawn-out process that was more akin to being a spy than an assassin. Yet, it was the will of the Brotherhood and she would bend to it. They were, after all, her family.


	2. The Test

**Chapter 1**

The Riften market was busy, making it easy for one dark elf in cheap, dingy clothes to go unnoticed. The young assassin had made sure her appearance seemed nonthreatening to the point of looking like an easy target to a thief. In fact, that was her hope. Let a thief try to steal from her so that she could catch him. Then it would be a simple task of blackmailing the thief to take her into the ratway or risk arrest by the guard.

She was confident in her plan. Thieves were generally cowards that didn't like to get their hands dirty. Whoever attempted to rob her would most likely fear being caught by the guard and do as she asked. If they didn't, well she didn't need knives or poison to take care of a problem.

_It would be nice if this Niruin would just leave his little rat nest_, she thought impatiently as she weaved through the small rotunda filled with stalls. She glanced at weapons, unimpressed by their simple materials. The same was said for the jewelry. Slowly, she walked the small circle, doing her best to look preoccupied.

"Never done an honest days work for all that coin your carrying, eh lass?" came a strangely accented voice from a nearby stall.

"Me?" the Listener asked approaching the stall cautiously.

"Aye, you. Your pockets –they're a little low on coin. I can tell." the redheaded stall owner replied.

She gave him a quick look, noting his fine clothing yet untrimmed and slightly unkempt beard and hair. The contrast was significant enough to peak the assassin's interest.

"Is that so?" she asked, watching his eyes for clues to his intentions. In her experience, people that took interest in you without reason were trouble. What kind of trouble, though, she didn't know yet.

"Aye."

"And how do you know this?" she asked in a dangerously soft voice, her red eyes watching his muscles for any signs of a threat.

"It's all about sizing up your mark, lass." He answered casually, oblivious to her slightly contracted hands that were ready to snap his neck if he so much as thought of touching her.

"Oh?"

"Aye. It's the way they walk, what they're wearing. It's a dead giveaway." The man continued, folding his arms impatiently.

"Perhaps you shouldn't concern yourself with my wealth." She snapped, deciding that the man was most likely giving her some sort of sales pitch for better clothes or jewelry. "You're wasting my time."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, lass." He said with a grin. "This isn't a waste of time and wealth _is_ my business. Maybe you would like a taste?"

With mention of wealth the man's pupils dilated, like a child's when they received candy. It was the same look the Blades had given her when they spoke of her stopping the dragons or the look of the Graybeards when she answered their questions about new words of power she had learned. It was the look she had even caught in her own eyes when she wetted her blade on some unsuspecting soul in the dark of the night.

She had no doubt that money drove this man and excited him in a way that most of the common rabble wouldn't understand. It was this unspoken passion that intrigued her more than his words. It was something she could relate to.

"I'm listening." She said, relaxing her tensed muscles a little, although not completely.

The man gave a wolfish smile, the blue of his eyes deepening in color. "I have a bit of an errand to perform, but I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well paid."

"What do I have to do?" she asked, her initial intrigue dropping slightly at the thought of becoming an errand runner for yet another lazy Nord._ Everyone always wants something_.

"Simple. I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal the jeweler's silver ring. It's Madesi, over there." He said slightly nodding his head in the direction of the smooth talking argonian. "It's in a strong box under his stand."

"That's it?" she asked, her interest returning at being asked to steal. _Perhaps this isn't so worthless after all_, she realized as the image of her being taken into the ratway to where Niruin sat waiting to die played in her head.

"No, lass. Once you have the ring I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing." He finished with a grin.

"Why?"

"There's someone that wants to put Brand-Shei out of business permanently. That's all you need to know."

_Why not just kill him?_ She thought, but quickly pushed the idea from her mind. She was not here to take Brand-Shei's life, but Niruin's. She would not jeopardize the struggling Brotherhood for a senseless kill. "Alright."

"Good. Now, you tell me when you're ready to get started."

"Now is as good a time as any." She answered.

"Chomping at the bit, I see." The man chuckled, assuming her impatience to be for the thrill of the theft and a payment of gold. "Good! I'll get started."

Alor took the cue to move on with her part in his scheme, barely listening to his call for all to see his wondrous new product. _This shouldn't be that hard_, she thought as she got into a well-practiced crouch and waited for the right moment to work on the jeweler's locked stand.

She let the guard pass the rotunda twice before going about her task. It was a tricky lock, but not unmanageable. Lock picking was an essential skill for an assassin, especially if the contract called for a discrete accident. A broken door or window was anything but discrete.

The redheaded man's voice floated over the crowd when a satisfying click rewarded her careful maneuvering. Sliding the door open, she saw a small box that was sure to contain the silver ring. _Not a problem_, she smiled as she began to work the second lock.

It took only a few minutes before the ring was secured and she made her way towards Brand-Shei. Although the shadows were sparse for a nice spring afternoon, she was no stranger to moving silently and crouched unseen behind the unfortunate elf.

_Now for the hard part_, she thought grimly. Lock picking and sneaking were second nature, but pick pocketing was most certainly not. _It can't be any different than slipping poison into a glass_, she reassured herself. _Nothing you can't handle._

Taking a low, deep breath she moved behind two stacks of crates. From a small crack between the piles, she was able to slowly move her hand towards the back pocket of the elf. _Easy,_ she instructed herself as she shifted her fingers so the ring could slip from her palm into the pocket.

Slowly, she felt the warm metal of the ring slide down her fingers and finally drop into the elf's clothes. She felt her heart thud against her chest as she waited for some sign that Brand-Shei felt the addition to his already crowded pocket. Yet, the elf didn't move, his entire being focused on the show the redheaded man was performing.

Slowly, she pulled her hand back and crept away from the small gathering of people. It was oddly satisfying knowing that she had practically touching a man without him ever knowing it. Even without claiming a life, she felt pleased with herself.

Sitting on a nearby bench, she watched the aftermath of her actions. It was strange seeing her target react to the accusations of stealing. The despair on his face when the ring was uncovered, the way his body slumped in defeat as he was led away; all of it was strange and almost sad. The Listener felt herself something in her stir, something almost like remorse.

_Why am I feeling guilty?_ She thought as the crowd began to whisper about the elf. It took a few moments, but she finally decided it was because she wasn't use to seeing her targets interact with the world around them once she attacked. That, and it was easier to sit by and watch friends and family mourn than it was to see them turn on the person so easily.

_ People are pigs_, she thought as she rose from her perch. Taking on the air of a listless shopper, she pushed the thoughts and feelings from her mind and made her way back to the tall Nord.

"Nice work, lass!" he whispered happily. "It looks like I choose the right person for the job!"

"Thank you." She replied, eyeing him expectantly.

"Ah yes, here you go. Your payment as promised." He chuckled handing her a small bag filled with coin. "The way things have been going around here, it's a relief that our plan went off without a hitch."

"What's been going on?" she asked while mentally figuring that she about one-hundred gold by the weight of the bag.

"Bah. My organization's been having a run of bad luck, but I suppose that's just how it goes."

"Perhaps." She replied with a shrug.

"Well, never mind that. You did the job and you did it well. There's more where that came from _if_ you think you can handle it." The man said with a mischievous grin.

"Is that even a question?" she huffed.

"My, you're a confident one, aren't you lass?" He laughed. "Since you're so eager why don't you come to our home? The group I represent is in the ratway. Find the tavern called the Ragged Flagon. If you get there in one piece, we'll talk." He finished with a smile.

"So find this tavern and ask for the large, redheaded Nord, then?" she asked.

The man let out a deep, hearty laugh. "Or you could just ask for Brynjolf. But that's only if a wee thing like you can even get there."

Alor felt herself smiling at his easy jabs. It reminded her of Nazir when she first stumbled into the old sanctuary. The way he had talked about her small size due to being a Dunmer, his well-practiced commentary on her kills. It made the Brotherhood feel more like a family then an organization. It made her slightly homesick, but with the way her luck was going she would find this Niruin by nightfall.

"Well, Brynjolf, be ready to buy me a drink." She said quickly before disappearing into the crowded streets of Riften.


	3. A Second Meeting

**Chapter 2**

Brynjolf felt happier than he had in a long time as he watched the little elf easily weave around the crowd and disappear. She seemed so unassuming and simple that he originally had no intentions of even approaching her with his task. It was only his desperation that caused him to call out to the red-eyed elf.

He needed something to go right and everything about her from the dingy clothes, her dark hair, gray skin, _everything_ was so typically Dunmer that he knew she wouldn't stand out in a crowd. She was so unremarkable in appearance that he began to wonder if the guards would even give her a second glance. It was then that he called out to her. _And what a stroke of luck I did!_

Chuckling to himself, he quickly wrapped up his business and made his way to the small cemetery. She wasn't much, but she had proved him wrong. She had done her task and she had done it well. Even he hadn't been able to see her move as he looked out over the crowd he had gathered. She had seemed to melt away only to reappear after Brand-Shei was safely in jail.

Ducking into a small alcove in the cemetery, he activated the guild's secret entrance and made his way towards his small little area in the ratway. Throwing off his finery he began to slip on his well-worn leather armor.

"So, how did you do today?" came the gravely voice of the guild leader.

"Not to bad, actually." Brynjolf answered, tightening his leather straps.

"Really? I don't see mounds of gold. How much did you make?"

"A few hundred, Mercer." The Nord answered, turning towards the Breton.

"Humph, I remember when that would be considered a very bad day."

Brynjolf sighed. The guild wasn't doing well, that was true, still he wished Mercer would cut everyone some slack. Having an unhappy Breton breathing down your back didn't seem to help increase profits.

Rubbing his hands through his hair, he gave his leader a meaningful look. "I found more than gold today."

"A new hit?" Mercer asked, greed flashing through his eyes.

"No, not a new hit." The Nord replied. "I found us a new thief."

Mercer's eyes went wide as he took a step back. "A new thief?" he whispered. "Is this some sort of joke, Brynjolf?" he shouted, his face turning bright red. "What will a new thief do for us? We can barely feed the ones we have!"

"This one has talent, Mercer. I've tested her!"

"Like you tested the last one? Or the one before that?" Mercer yelled. "All of them you claimed had talent and all of them were arrested their first night out!"

"This one is different. She helped make half this gold." Brynjolf argued, throwing four small bags of gold at Mercer.

"Beginners luck." The leader scoffed, tossing the bags back to Brynjolf.

"It's more than that. She has a natural skill."

"For your sake I hope she does." Mercer hissed. "I'm tired of failure, Brynjolf. Remember that."

Brynjolf watched the guild leader storm off towards the entrance. "I will." He whispered, feeling his heart sink a little.

Sighing he moved slowly towards the Flagon, his mood soured. The guild was his home. It was all he had and he knew he would lose it all should he fail. Mercer would make sure of that, not that he blamed the man. He had a guild to run and had to do what was needed to make sure the guild thrived.

_But how did it get as bad as this?_ He thought as he plastered a fake smile on his face and entered the tavern.

"Hey there, Brynjolf." Came a chorus of voices. All of them familiar like that of a brother or sister.

Looking around he nodded and greeted everyone by name. Vex, one of their best sneak thieves, Delvin, a smart yet rough thief with many contacts, Tonilla, a haughty bargainer and fence, and finally Dirge, loyal barkeep and lowlife. They were his family, his friends. Their livelihood and safety was his responsibility as the guild's second. Should he not get good leads on jobs or help keep them out of jail they would be thrown from the guild by Mercer just as easily as he would throw Brynjolf out.

"What was Mercer screaming about?" Vex asked from a nearby table.

"Just his usual ranting." Brynjolf said with a wave, throwing down a gold piece for a mug of mead.

"If you don't mind me saying so, he seems to be doing that more." Delvin said between long drinks from his mug.

"Nothing to be worried about. Our unlucky streak is getting to him."

"Seems more to be doing more than getting to him." Delvin said.

Brynjolf gave the man a hard look and turned to his own drink. "Have any of our fellow Riftens paid up yet, Vex?"

"None." She said with a snarl.

He sighed and moved from the bar. It was then that he saw her. She had changed from her dingy dress into black leather armor, complete with hood and mask. The leather seemed almost melted onto her body, leaving no excess cloth that could hinder her liquid movements. At her side was a deadly looking mace and a set of small daggers. The only thing that was recognizable about the small dark elf was her bright red eyes. Yet, even those seemed more dangerous beneath the mask and hood than they had in the market.

"Hello, hello! Who might this be?" Delvin said thickly, standing as the mysterious woman approached them.

"That is our newest member!" Brynjolf replied, his face giving away his own surprise. Moving towards her he regained his composure and greeted her with a smile. "Well, well! Color me impressed. I wasn't sure I was ever going to see you again."

The elf shrugged, remaining silent under the stares of all of the thieves. Brynjolf sensed her discomfort and motioned for her to follow him to a more secluded corner of the bar.

"Nice getup, lass." Brynjolf said once they were out of earshot of the nosy thieves. "So I guess you're not just some farmer that ventured to town, are you?"

The elf shook her head slowly, her eyes darting around to the faces of the other thieves.

"Now, that's a problem." The Nord said, causing the woman's eyes to snap back to his. "See, I protect this guild and we're not in a position to have any trouble by taking in people of questionable backgrounds."

"Really? Thieves have standards?" she spat, her eyes narrowing.

"Aye, we do." Brynjolf replied. "This may seem like a band of thieves to outsiders, but it's my family and I have very high standards when it comes to my family."

He watched as the elf's eyes looked down and lost some of their intensity. She nodded slightly and looked back at him. "What do you want?"

"Well, you can lose the mask for starters." He said softly.

"I like the mask." She answered with such ferocity that Brynjolf felt a chill run through his spine.

"Alright, lass, but you don't need wear it here." He said cautiously, his muscles tensing, ready to act should she decide to use one of her knives.

"Fine." She replied, pulling back her hood and unclasping her mask. Once more Brynjolf was taken off guard. Instead of the doe-eyed curious face he saw in the market he was staring at hard lines and determination.

"Who are you?" he heard himself whisper, his mind still trying to process the extreme transformation in the elf.

"I am no one." She replied darkly. "But some call me Alor."

_No one?_ He thought briefly, running his hand through his hair as he often did when he was troubled or faced with a very large problem. _This woman is anyone but no one._ "Alor doesn't sound like a common dark elf name."

"It's my surname." She replied, her tone lightening somewhat although he could almost taste her wariness.

"And do you have a first name, lass?"

"Not any more." She said in a tone that told Brynjolf it would dangerous to press her further.

"Anything I should know about before I let you into my family?"

"My past is my own." She said quietly. "You don't need to worry, Brynjolf. There is nothing that would put you in danger."

The Nord gave her a long, hard look. Her eyes spoke the truth but something inside him still felt unsettled by her. _We need all the help we can get_, he told himself. "Alright, lass, you're in as soon as you prove yourself."

"Haven't I already done that?"

"I thought you did, but these days I have to be sure. Are you sure you want to join us?"

"Yes." She answered.

"Alright, then here's what you have to do…"


	4. Whispers of Trouble

**Chapter 3**

Brynjolf's rules were not to her liking, but Alor swore she would follow them. _At least until I find Niruin_, she thought as her blades sang to her, demanding blood. It took restraint not to answer the call as she attempted to reclaim the money owed to the guild.

Brynjolf wanted her to persuade them, but she was no good with words. She was a Listener, not a Speaker. _It would have been much easier if I could have put my knife to their throats_, she thought as she made her way through the ratway, her pockets heavy with coin. Unfortunately, that would have drawn unnecessary attention to her when she was so close to finishing her contract. She again found herself controlled only by the thought of what would happen to the Brotherhood should she be exposed.

Entering the Flagon she walked in the shadows to avoid notice of the few thieves enjoying a drink. Brynjolf was among them, sitting at an isolated table covered with empty glasses. She watched as he stared at a large mug of mead, oblivious to the world around him. Silently, she slid into the empty seat across from him. Still concealed somewhat by the shadows, he didn't notice her as he continued to sigh at his drink.

"What's wrong?" she finally asked, causing him to jerk violently with surprise.

"In Talos' name, when did you get here, lass?" he gasped, clutching his chest as if to slow his loudly beating heart.

"A few minutes ago." She answered, her eyes searing into his. "What's wrong?"

"Other than you scaring me into my grave, you mean?" he asked, slowly recovering his composure.

"Yes. Other than that."

"You're wearing that damned mask again." He answered, the smell of mead floating off his breath.

Quickly unclasping it and her hood, she yanked her long, black braid free from her armor and gave Brynjolf an indulgent look. "Now, will you tell me what's wrong?"

"What makes you think anything is wrong?" he asked, avoiding her sharp, red eyes.

"You sighed at least twelve times in the last few minutes. Either you're lovesick or something is wrong."

"That is none of your business."

"It is my business, Brynjolf. If I'm going to be sneaking about for you, risking my freedom, I think I deserve to know if my _leader_ is compromised by something."

"No, you don't. My problems are my own." The Nord answered sternly.

The assassin shook her head bitterly and threw down the bags of money she had collected. "When you are a member of a group you don't get the luxury of having your own problem."

"And what would you know about it?" he said, the drink making his temper quicker than normal.

"I worked for someone once." Alor started, her jaw clenching as she spoke. "She thought that she could keep things to herself too. The problems we were having, her own doubts, all of it she hid. That is until her problems found her and got her and four others killed."

Brynjolf stared at her, his eyes shifting from anger to sadness as her words hit him. "We're not doing so well, lass. People don't fear us so they don't pay to keep us away. Then, we're losing more money than we're brining in and on top of all that, people are getting caught." He said softly. "And it's my fault."

"How is a bunch of thieves being caught your fault? They weren't careful enough. That's all." She answered.

"I'm the second in command. The daily operations are MY responsibility. Their safety is MY responsibility." The Nord hissed, slamming his fist on the table.

"You can't guarantee safety. Outside forces always can get in." the Listener argued. "Besides, you're a mess right now. How are you doing anyone any good by drowning yourself in drink. It's disgusting."

"Leave me be." Brynjolf snarled.

The assassin stood, clipping her mask and hood back into place. "I'll leave you alone so long as you show me where I can sleep."

"Fine." The Nord said, swaying slightly as he stood. "Follow me, Dunmer."

Alor motioned for him to lead on, ignoring the growing glances the thieves were sending their way. _Let Niruin be wherever they sleep_, she thought to herself as her disgust for the drunken Nord built.

She quickly memorized the short path that led from the Flagon into the living area of the guild. Brynjolf continued to stumble as he moved towards a small bed on the far end of the room. _He is nothing like anyone in the Brotherhood, _she thought as she watched his drunkenness become more and more apparent. As a whiff of mead wafted off the large man, she found herself being taken back to her childhood and images of her father.

A shudder ran through her as she quickly stifled the horrible memories. "Is this it?" she asked, distracting her mind so it would not stray again.

"What were you expecting? A grand chamber full of plush pillows and blankets." Brynjolf snapped. "That's your bed and your chest. That's all you get."

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" she heard herself ask, despite wanting nothing more than to ignore him, the drink, and to find Niruin and leave.

"Doing what?" he slurred as he sat on the bed next to hers.

"The drinking."

"I don't normally." He answered with a shrug.

"Stop it. I won't work for a drunk." The assassin said, sinking on to her bed. "You seemed better than this."

"What do you mean?" Brynjolf asked, but he received no answer. Instead, Alor forced her eyes and mouth shut. She listened closely as the sound of the bed shifting was heard and soon loud snores followed.

Opening her eyes again, she looked over at the red haired man. He had a kind face and had seemed lighthearted when she had first spoke with him. She was disappointed that he succumbed to the weakness of inebriation over a few guild problems. _The Brotherhood is all but dead but we don't drink ourselves to death_, she thought with an air of superiority.

A loud snore pulled her from her thoughts and back to the drunk Nord. _It's a shame_, she thought as she watched what she had briefly thought was a decent sort of man. _At least this will make it easier to betray them_.


	5. Confrontation

**Chapter 4**

Brynjolf woke to find himself in Niruin's bed with a throbbing head and achy body. He remained still for a moment, staring at the empty bed next to him while glimpses of the prior night started to materialize.

He had been in a fairly good mood that day. Both Vex and Delvin had made tidy sums for the guild while escaping notice from the guards. He had also received a letter from Thyrnn and Niruin about their job in Markarth was moving slowly, but without trouble. And to top it off, Sapphire had collected nearly five-hundred gold in interest from one of her loans.

In his mind, it had been a good day. Unfortunately, Mercer did not agree. He groaned as he thought about the renewed threats made by the guild leader and how violent the Breton had become. It took a lot of self-control not to hit the man back, but he knew that reacting would have been dangerous not only to his position in the guild but his health. He may be bigger and stronger than the Breton, but Mercer was fast with his blades and fought dirty.

_Things are getting bad,_ he thought again, a cloud of worry hanging over his head. It was the same worries that led him towards the Flagon and pushed him to drink, and drink, and finally drink some more. He couldn't even remember how much he had consumed, but by the way he felt he imagined it was at least fifteen pints.

It was then that he finally remembered his conversation with the newest member of his family. "Talos." He cursed under his breath as he attempted to remember all of what was said. She had given him the money she collected, but she had been angry and he couldn't remember why.

Sitting up, he looked around. The living quarters were empty. _How late is it?_ He wondered as he stood stiffly and made his way into the Flagon. He was in no mood to go to the market. All he wanted was something hot to eat and as much water as he could possibly get.

He shuffled down the dingy halls slowly, hoping not to meet Mercer along the way. Pausing by the door, he listened intently, trying to make out the few voices that floated from the tavern.

"I'm sure I've met you before." He heard Delvin say in a matter-of-fact voice. "Maybe three or four years ago. In Winterhold, wasn't it?"

"No." came the voice of the dark elf.

"You can't deny it. I remember you." Delvin insisted.

Brynjolf strained to hear more. Delvin only seemed to remember beautiful women, business assets, or people worth avoiding. The dark elf was nothing extraordinary in terms of her body or looks, so he doubted that was his friend's motive. It made him more apprehensive about the woman he so easily invited into his home. There was something _off_ about her. She was not quite threatening but not very friendly, either. She clearly had some sort of past that caused her to own a set of lethal looking knives and to wear a mask. _And never trust someone that refuses to show their face_, he recited from one of his earliest lessons as a thief.

"No. You don't. And it would be in your best interest to not make that mistake again." He heard the elf say.

Brynjolf decided he had heard enough. The girl was a good thief, but her threatening a senior member of the guild was too much. She was trouble, he was sure of it.

Walking out into the Flagon, he ignored a friendly greeting from Delvin and marched straight towards where the new recruit sat.

"You." He said roughly, causing the eyes of the few people in the tavern to turn towards him. "Come with me. Now."

The elf rose without protest and followed him towards the door. He began to walk the maze of the ratway, going deeper and deeper into the ancient labyrinth.

"Where are we going?" the elf finally asked after nearly an hour of hurried walking.

"_We're_ not going anywhere. _You_ are going away." Brynjolf spat, his anger not ebbing with the walk.

"What do you mean I'm going away?"

Brynjolf stopped and turned to face the woman. She still wore her mask, so he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Not that he cared. She was threatening his family, that's all that mattered.

"Brynjolf." She said again. "What do you mean?"

"You come here on my invitation dressed like some sort of mercenary." He started, feeling his face burn red with his emotions. "I should have listened to my instincts then and asked you to leave, but I was desperate to help the guild and let you stay. But here you are, one full day into being a member of _my family_ and you dare to threaten one of your fellow thieves! It is not acceptable."

The girl stared at him for a moment, her eyes blank. "Are you finished?"

"I'm leaving you here. If you find you're way back into my guild I will make sure you regret it." He answered, his voice a deadly calm.

"You are pathetic." She said, leaning against the damp stone wall.

"What did you say?" he hissed.

"I said YOU ARE PATHETIC! Look at you! You still reek of drink, you weak, stupid man! You're so worried about your stupid guild yet you just drown your problems. You haven't even tasted a true calamity or hardship and already your losing all your control. Drinking and yelling like you are, I should have left last night when you were too drunk to even process that I gave you seven-hundred gold more than was required."

"You little –wait. You did what?" Brynjolf said, confused.

"I got you more than you were owed. You think I'm some sort of cutthroat; well maybe that's what you need. People tend to pay when their truly afraid, Brynjolf."

"What did you do?" he asked nervously, assuming the worse.

Unclasping her mask she rubbed her face wearily. "You wanted me to convince people to pay up without spilling blood. That's what I did."

He could see the frustration lining her face as he looked at her expectantly. "But what did you do, lass?"

"I stood there and waited." She answered. "I'm not smooth with words, like you. I couldn't have an entire crowd of people listening to me so intently that they didn't even feel a clumsy hand in their pocket. I used my talents to get them to pay."

"And what talents are those?" he asked, his anger subsiding somewhat with his increased interest in what the little elf had to say.

"Intimidation."

"You threatened them!" he shouted.

"No," she started calmly, "I didn't. I went to their shops after they closed. I walked up to them and just stared at them. They became uncomfortable and began to ask what I wanted, who I was, and threatening me if I didn't leave. But I just stood there and rested my hand on my knives. That's when they began to get scared. All I had to do is ask for the money they owed and they paid. No violence, no smooth words, just using their fears against them."

Brynjolf stared at her, dumbfounded. She had used fear to get what she wanted. Not the fear of being framed or the fear that comes with blackmail, but the fear of a stranger and physical harm. She didn't break the rules, but it wasn't exactly what he had in mind. _But she got us more money than we were owed_.

It didn't sit well in his mind that those people now viewed the guild as armed thugs rather than the power that controlled things behind-the-scenes. Still, they were in desperate need of money. Money that could only come if people believed you were a threat, whether due to power or violence. He didn't like it, but he realized she may be right.

"That still doesn't give you the right to threaten other thieves, lass." He said in a tone that was more like a father scolding a child than with the fierce rage he felt earlier. "They are your family now. You have to remember that."

"You should remember that, then, when you decide to get drunk and embarrass yourself and your organization. It makes you look weak."

"I wasn't that bad."

"A drunk leader is a bad one, Brynjolf. What sort of message are you sending to the other thieves?"

"My drinking doesn't mean anything."

"Until you make a bad choice and people get hurt."

Her words brought back a blurred memory of something she had said the night before. Something about people getting hurt. "What was it that you said to me last night?" he asked, his mind trying to remember.

"What, that you were disgusting?" she said with a slight smile.

"I don't remember that." He frowned. "No, it was something about someone you worked for."

"Yes. She didn't confide in her team and got herself and almost all of us killed."

The story stirred a fear in him that he had felt briefly on and off for weeks. It was the fear that his inability to do his job would hurt his family. _Maybe I already am_, he thought, defeated by the weight of his worries.

"I'll lose their respect if I tell them how bad things really are. They depend on me to make sure that there's safe, lucrative work."

"Then tell me. I have no respect for you so you have nothing to lose." She said causally.

Brynjolf looked at her serious face and knew what she said was true. "Then why do you even care?"

She looked away for a moment, her face becoming sad for a second before returning to its emotionless mask. "Because I never want to be associated with people that are weak, lazy, or self-destructive ever again. It always ends up with me forced to deal with some mess or shouldering some responsibility that shouldn't have ever fallen to me to bear."

Her words hit him hard. He knew the feeling well. His life hadn't been an easy road to wealth and thievery but a path filled with troubles that were not always of his making. Feeling properly shamed, he decided it was time to swallow his pride.

"I need to apologize." He started, his hand reaching for his hair. "You caught me in a bad moment."

"I don't want your apology."

"You're going to get it anyways."

"How about you stop drinking so much so I'm not forced to work for yet another drunk."

"Fine."

"Fine." She answered standing up from where she leaned. "Now what?"

"The job is done and you brought the gold. And you did it clean. It seems I owe you something in return for your work."

He reached pulled out one of the bags and threw it to her. "Consider it your cut plus a bonus."

He watched her as she felt the bag, her brow wrinkled in concentration. "It will do."

"It seems we need someone like you in our outfit. I hope that you still are willing to be a member of the Guild."

"As long as there's gold." She said dully, her mind clearly not focused on their conversation.

"Good. Then it seems like its time to show you what we're all about."

"What do you mean?"

"I think its time you met our guild master."


	6. The First Job

**Chapter 5**

The long walk back to the Guild's portion of the ratway was a silent one. The Nord seemed tired and made no effort to start a conversation. The Listener was glad he didn't. The day was not going well. It started with her being recognized by that sleazy Delvin to almost being kicked out of the guild. Besides that, she had yet to meet Niruin and begin the slow set of poisons she was going to use to make his death appear natural.

_I shouldn't have worn my regular clothes, _she repeated for what seemed the hundredth time. It was a foolish mistake since it made her stand out more than necessary. _Still, if Babette is right, it shouldn't matter_.

The thought comforted her somewhat as she recited the child-like vampire's instructions. For three weeks she was to place five drops from the blue bottle into Niruin's mouth while he slept. This would make him feel under the weather as if he had a cold. Then it was seven drops from the red bottle for five weeks. Niruin would start to have more obvious symptoms of a sickness like nausea and vomiting. He would have periods of feeling better, but overall it would seem he caught a nasty flu.

Finally, she would administer three drops for three days from the black bottle. Slowly, Niruin's muscles would weaken as the tiny fibers would become paralyzed by the poison. Eventually, his diaphragm would stop working, causing the Bosmer to suffocate. To everyone else, he would die in his sleep after an unfortunate illness.

_Then remain in the Guild for a few weeks to not seem suspicious and disappear while on a mission. They'll assume I'm dead and I'll be free from this stupidity._ It was only a little more than three months time, but it still felt like it was going to be an eternity. Especially since Niruin hadn't even appeared yet.

_If only I could find out where he is, I could do the job in the wilderness and be done with it immediately_. But that had risks, too. Besides, Nazir was very adamant that she would do the contract the way they all had agreed upon, Listener or not. She would bend to their will, even though it was difficult to do so.

At long last they finally reached the Ragged Flagon. Vex gave Brynjolf a sickly sweet smile that seemed out of place on the suspicious woman's face. Delvin did his best to be concentrated on looking for _something_ that he dropped. Alor smiled, knowing that the man understood her threat and believed it. Reclasping her mask, she gave him a quick, hard glance as they passed by, just to reinforce their earlier conversation.

Brynjolf continued to walk at quick pace, leading them back to the living quarters of the guild. Immediately, she noticed a Breton standing near a desk concentrated on his paperwork. He wore the armor typical of the thieves, although his seemed far more intimidating than the others in the Guild. She couldn't quite place it, but there was something about the way he held himself that made her feel uneasy. It was clear the man had power and was use to using it, but it wasn't that that caused the feeling.

"Mercer," the Nord called out as they approached the Breton. "This is the one I talking about. Our new recruit."

The Breton looked up from his papers and gave her a long, hard stare. Alor felt her heart quicken with that look and the memories it stirred of a day filled with rain, her father's yelling, and a sharp pain searing across her face. She knew that look and it meant anger and pain. She shuddered slight, instinctively moving closer to the towering Nord.

Mercer looked back at Brynjolf his face displaying just how unimpressed he was by the elf. "She better not be another waste of Guild resources, Brynjolf. Remember our talk."

Brynjolf nodded, his eyes focusing on the Listener with an intense gaze that made her feel even more uncomfortable than she already was.

"Before we continue, I want to make one thing perfectly clear." Mercer said, returning his steely gaze onto the elf. "You play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules and you lose your share. No debates, no discussion. You do what we say, when we say. Do I make myself clear?"

The tone of the guildmaster's voice held more of a threat than just losing money should she break the rules. Alor understood that immediately. This was not a man to trifle with. He was not the type to be fair or understanding. It was his guild, his rules, his way or no way. Finally, she began to understand Brynjolf's sighs and sour mood.

"I understand." She said, her voice becoming the meek whisper of her childhood.

"Good." He said with a sharp smile. "Brynjolf has been telling me you have some natural talent for this work. He says you've shown aptitude for sneaking. I think it's time I put your _expertise_ to the test."

"Wait a moment," Brynjolf suddenly interrupted. "You're not talking about Goldenglow, are ya?"

Mercer gave him a look that would have silenced Alor immediately, but Brynjolf continued. "Even our little Vex couldn't get in.

"You claim this recruit possess an aptitude to our line of work, so let her prove it." He hissed.

Brynjolf bowed his head in defeat and Mercer continued. "Goldenglow is critically important to one of our largest clients. However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Brynjolf, you can tell the rest of the details."

Mercer gave them a look of contempt before going back to his papers. The Nord sighed heavily and ushered the assassin towards the opposite end of the room. He shook his head and stared out over the cistern for a few moments, lost in his own thoughts. Alor was happy for it since she needed a moment to quiet her own nightmares the Breton had unintentionally awakened.

"I suppose I should officially welcome you to the family, lass." He finally said, breaking the silence that had settled around them. "I'm expecting you to make us a lot of coin. So _don't disappoint me_."

Alor looked up at his face and saw all the feelings and fears that had been her own during her very hard childhood. Perhaps not to the same degree since Brynjolf was a grown man capable of defending himself and not a frightened child, but he still was under the control of a hard, dangerous man. She did not doubt that this Mercer would not blink at hurting or even killing the members of his criminal family. It was a frightening trait in a leader. _Even the Brotherhood would not think to harm their own unless they were betrayed!_

The disgust and contempt she had started to feel for the Nord began to lift a little with her understanding of his position in the guild. Looking him straight in the eye she answered him as honestly as she could. "I will do all that I can not to, Brynjolf."

"Good. Just do as your told and keep your blade clean. We can't turn a profit by killing."

The Listener smiled under her mask at this, knowing just how profitable killing could be. "So what's this Goldenglow job your boss was talking about?"

"He's your boss too, lass." Brynjolf said sternly. "Don't forget that. He's not very forgiving of mistakes."

"Don't worry, he made the perfectly clear." She said gently. "And I won't be a mistake for you so long as I don't have to pickpocket or talk to people."

Brynjolf smiled a little, but it didn't reach his eyes. He ran his hand through his messy, red hair and let his eyes flit towards Mercer. "Here's the thing, lass, Goldenglow Estate is nothing more than a bee farm. They raise the wretched little things for honey. It's own by some smart-mouthed wood elf named Aringoth. The job is teaching him a lesson by burning down three of the hives and breaking into the safe in the house."

"That doesn't sound too hard." She started. "What's the catch?"

"The catch is you can't burn the whole place down. That important client Mercer was talking about would not be happy if you did. We can't afford to have our most important clients angry right now."

"So will this Aringoth be there?"

"Aye, he will. Maven Black-Briar wants him to remain alive, but should he try to stop you from finishing the job, kill him."

The assassin looked up at Brynjolf in surprise. "Kill him? I thought you just told me to keep my blade clean."

"The Guild has a lot riding on this. Too much, in fact. It is an exception for this job and this job only."

"Ok. Anything else I should know about?"

"The island is covered with mercenaries." The Nord said quietly.

"Oh."

"Now look, lass, I've seen what you can do when people are distracted. This won't be like that. These mercenaries don't take prisoners like the guard does. You need to watch yourself out there." He finished, his face showing his concern despite their brief and rocky relationship.

"I will." She answered, her eyes watching the Nord carefully as she tried to make out his thoughts.

"Just don't make me look foolish by mucking it up." He finally said, a stormy look covering face. She nodded her understanding as he walked away, his hands pulling on the long strands of his hair.


	7. A Fateful Con

**Chapter 6**

Brynjolf had not slept well that night. He had too much on his mind. Everything from feelings of shame over what Alor had said to him in the deep tunnels of the ratway, to nervous apprehension over what Mercer would do to him should the little elf fail in her mission. He felt he had come to an understanding with his newest Guild sister, but that didn't mean he felt confident that she wouldn't break their rules, causing not only trouble for herself but for him as well. On top of all that, he still had the nagging worry of the entire organizations declining wealth and wellbeing.

He had tossed and turned, tangling himself in his covers so badly that when he finally awoke in the darkness of early dawn it took him a few minutes to be able to get up. He dressed in his finery silently, careful not to wake the others that found their beds that night. Gathering a few sham potions and a small package, he began to move towards the back entrance to Riften.

"Bormah!" a garbled voice called out into the darkness followed by a moan. Brynjolf stopped and turned, looking for the source of the gibberish. He quickly spotted a thrashing tangle of blankets from the far side of the circular room. _Alor_.

He watched her for a moment, clearly in the middle of some nightmare. She mumbled a few more pieces of gibberish that sounded like _Filock _ and _Dovah_ before finally calming and falling still. _At least I'm not the only one with nightmares_, the thought as he continued his way out of the ratway.

Riften was quiet in the early hour before dawn. The other merchants weren't up yet, allowing him to set up his stall without the hassle of pretending to be an honest merchant. The ritualistic act of arranging his potions, some real, most fake, set his weary mind at ease. There was comfort in normalcy; comfort and safety. In the market he didn't have to worry about what sort of mood Mercer would be in. He didn't have to think about the empty tavern and empty beds and those that were no longer around to fill them. It was a comfort he desperately needed.

Watching the harsh oranges and reds of dawn splash through the sky, he prepared himself for the day. His skills for the guild lay not in stealth and slight of hand, but in words and the art of conning. An art form in which he was a master, _and today will be my best show yet_.

As the sun rose higher and the bright colors of dawn dimmed, the other merchants arrived spouting off their normal banter to one another. Brynjolf participated with practiced ease, joking with the vendors while hinting that he had something special in store for them today.

"Another piece of trash you're pawning off, then?" Madesi said with an air of superiority.

"Not at all." Brynjolf said with a wide smile. "Wait and see."

The other merchants shrugged off his comments, a few saying it was yet another trick for the visitors of Riften. Yet he knew that they were all curious to see what he had. _Show them a few treasures with the trash and they'll always trust you enough to listen,_ he thought with a triumphant smile. Listening was all that he needed them to do to get someone to bite.

The day progressed and soon it was late in the afternoon. He had done well selling some normal potions to some travelers along with a few _special_ ones at highly exaggerated costs. But it was time for something more spectacular, something that could easily bring him a few thousand gold pieces. Taking a deep breath, he began his show.

"Lads and Lasses, gather round for a very, very special item you won't want to miss!"

Slowly the travelers that were not use to his game, moved towards his stall. "Gather round, everyone!" he called again, gaining a good portion of the Riften regulars as well.

He waited until all eyes were focused on him. "Everyone, I have something amazing to show you."

"What is it this time, Brynjolf?" a voice rang from the crowd.

"I have something that would easily be coveted by the High King, Ulfric, himself."

Murmurs ran through the crowd and he saw excitement building in some of the people's eyes. Not wanting to lose their attention, he reached behind him and pulled out the small package. "In this box I have something so rare, so priceless, that I had to fight off four attacks by bandits when bringing it here!"

The crowd began to move with whispers of speculation. Brynjolf was glad to see that even Madesi seemed interested in what he had to say. "What is it?" a woman called out from the crowd.

"Show us!" a man shouted, receiving nods and shouts of agreement.

"Now calm down. I will show you what I have fought tooth and nail to get, but it will go to the highest offer only." Brynjolf told the crowd, causing even more people to feel their pockets to check how much gold they had.

Satisfied with the attention he had, he slowly opened the box and pulled out a smooth malachite mask he had stolen from a mansion in Solitude. It had deep divots near the eyes with long slits to let the wearer see. A long, ragged cut into the metal near the left eye showed that the mask probably saved the original owners sight. There was no nose on smooth face, giving it a strange, eerie presence while the slit for the mouth was in a permanent frown.

"Behold! The mask of the Dragonborn!" he called, receiving gasps from everyone in the crowd.

"By the Nine Divines, it is her mask!" a man called out in shock.

Brynjolf smiled at the man. The mask was probably just some heirloom of a rich family, but it was very similar to what everyone said the Dragonborn wore so he decided to try his luck with it. "Were you lucky enough to see the Dragonborn, friend?"

"See her? She saved me from a dragon outside of Windhelm!" the man returned, getting gasps from the crowd. "She wore that exact mask!"

_This is better than I could hope for!_ Brynjolf thought happily as the crowd began to go wild with shouts of offers. Soon he had a right auction for the stolen item. It took only a few minutes for the price to jump to two-thousand gold, ten minutes later several people were pooling their money to bid nearly five-thousand gold. But it was the visiting housecarl to Ulfric Storm-cloak himself, Glamar Stone-Fist, who won with a bid of ten-thousand gold pieces.

Brynjolf couldn't believe his luck as the old warrior handed him five bags heaped with gold. "Did you know the Dragonborn, sir?" he asked as he handed him the mask.

"I did. I was with her when a dragon put that scratch down the front of that mask." Glamar answered.

Brynjolf looked down at the long scratch near the left eye. How the old man saw it from where he stood near the back, he didn't know, but the crowd soon began whispering in excitement about the newest revelation.

_Talos!_ He thought as he watched the truly priceless item slip from his hand. _I actually had the mask of the Dragonborn!_

Moving back to his stall, he let his body and mouth go through the motions of selling useless junk to the still enthralled crowd while his mind processed what he had just learned.

_By Talos, I pray that I didn't actually steal it from the Dragonborn, herself!_ he thought in a panic. The Dragonborn was a legend, a hero. It would be dishonorable to steal from the savior of not only Skyrim, but the world. _I couldn't have stolen from her. Everyone says she disappeared after the dragons left. She probably just gave the mask to a friend_.

Still, that would mean that someone most likely in a position of power was robbed of a very noticeable and memorable item that could be traced back to him. _The mansion seemed unused. They probably won't notice it gone_, he reasoned, recalling the dust that had built up on everything in the house.

Thinking further, he decided that the Dragonborn giving the mask to a friend was as unlikely as him stumbling upon her home and stealing from her. The most likely scenario was that the house had been used by the Dragonborn after she returned with the news of the World Eater's defeat. She had been in Solitude, after all. _She probably left it there when she disappeared so no one would recognize her._

It made perfect sense. The Dragonborn was known to be a woman and most likely an elf due to her size, but nothing more. She hid her face and refused to give her name in all the time she fought the dragons, so it would not come as a surprise for her to leave all her possessions behind and retire someplace quiet.

_You're fine, Brynjolf. _He repeated to himself as he packed up his goods. _This will not come back to haunt you._ Yet, the thought of stealing something so precious from someone so beloved was enough for him to worry, especially considering the streak of bad luck the entire guild was faced with.

Locking up his stall, he began to make his way towards the guild with his bounty. Dusk had fallen and Mercer would be waiting to see what he had made for the day. Bounding down the steps, he searched the room and found his guildmaster sitting in a chair by his desk.

"Mercer." He said, containing his excitement and anxiety as best he could.

"Brynjolf, good to see your back. I heard that there was quite a ruckus in the market today. I hope that was you making us some gold."

"Aye. I did nearly seven-hundred in potions." He started, getting an angry glare from the Breton.

"Seven-hundred? That's nothing."

"Then I made ten-thousand off another item." The Nord finished expectantly.

"Ten-thousand? You made ten-thousand!" Mercer clapped. "Oh, Brynjolf, you have redeemed yourself well! TEN-THOUSAND GOLD! HA!"

Brynjolf felt his anxiety over the mask fade as his guild master smiled and laughed at the news. He hadn't seen Mercer happy in nearly a year. It was like seeing an old friend after a long sickness. "Thank you, Mercer."

"No, thank you! I'll take it and put it in the treasury! Ten-thousand! What did you tell them you had?"

"The mask of the Dragonborn." Brynjolf said honestly, getting a surprised look from Mercer.

"The mask of the Dragonborn! And they believed you!" he laughed. "You are good, Brynjolf. You are good. Now go get yourself a drink. Delvin and Vex will want to hear about this!"

"Only Delvin and Vex are here? Where are the others?" he asked, looking around at the empty cistern.

"On jobs, like they should be. In fact, your recruit left at dawn. I expected to see smoke by now."

Brynjolf's eyes widened. "You don't think she's dead, do ya?"

"Probably." Mercer said without much of a thought. "But don't worry about that. I could tell she was a dud the minute I looked at her. It's one less mouth of feed."

"Aye." Brynjolf said distractedly. "So you gave her that mission with hopes that she would fail?"

"And save us wasted money and time." Mercer nodded. "Now go get yourself a drink." He finished, his tone becoming a little harsher.

"I will, thanks." The Nord said, leaving quickly before Mercer's mood soured. He didn't like the idea of his leader sending out initiated thieves into a deathtrap with hopes of them dying. He could see the man's reasoning, but he didn't like it. _And she was so damned good at sneaking_, he thought in disappointment. _Maybe she isn't dead yet._

It didn't seem likely, but he decided he wouldn't worry about her unless she didn't show up by the following afternoon. She may have taken her time in getting to the estate and figuring out her plan. There was no need to assume the worse. _If she's not back tomorrow, I'll go looking_, he decided. _She's family now._

Feeling better about the situation, he entered the Flagon with a large, satisfied smile.


	8. One more to the Void

**Chapter 7**

Blood trickled down her silver blade until it hit her gloved hand. It was warm and thick feeling even through the black leather. Staring down at the mess of gray, orange, and now red fur, the Listener felt satisfied with the kill. It had been quick, painless, and most importantly, silent.

Bent in a low crouch she looked beyond the dead Khajiit's tent to see if any of his fellows had stirred in their sleep by the slight gargling noise that came with the cat's last breathes. All was still in the smooth blackness of night. Not a soul stirred as Sithis claimed another soul to the emptiness of the Void. Slowly, Alor allowed herself to smile.

Leaning back on her heels, she felt her legs strain as she silently crouched her way down the rocky hill. She would remain low and move with as much swiftness as possible until she was out of sight of the night-seeing Khajiit. It was nearly ten minutes before she felt comfortable enough to stand at her full height and stretch out her shaking muscles.

"I needed that." She whispered into the darkness while she felt her body relax for the first time in days. She had been having nightmares again, causing her sleep to become a prison of dragons, fire, a small broken hut in the Imperial City, and blood. There was always so much blood in her dreams followed by screaming. It was odd that it perturbed her, considering she found the spilling of blood in a silent, unsuspected attack satisfying, exhilarating even. But in her dreams the blood scared her. She didn't know where it came from or who was screaming and she was helpless to stop it.

Besides the nature of the dreams, she was troubled that they were even happening again. She hadn't had a nightmare since she left the world as the Dragonborn and simply existed within the Brotherhood. The assassins had been her refuge even during her trials with the dragons, but truly became her home after. It was the only place she felt comfortable and killing was the only time she felt fully in control. With every life she took she was in power, she was the assailant and not the victim, and she had control of the situation. It was therapeutic to her scarred soul to have dominance over something everyone clung to so dearly; Life.

_I wish I was home_, she thought sadly as she moved back towards Riften with tired steps. The nightmares didn't come when she was in the sanctuary and she had a feeling that the return of the dreams was not an anomaly and would continue to terrorize her nights as long as she was with the thieves. _And that horrible Mercer,_ she thought bitterly.

_Mercer._ The thought of him sent chills through her. His eyes, although Breton and not Dunmer, held the same malice and greed that her father's once had. The way he held himself and even the manner in which he spoke mirrored so much of what she had tried to forget that it was frightening. _But he is not your father,_ she reminded herself. _And you are not a child. You are strong and he can't touch you._

Whether it was a lie or not, she spoke those words to herself over and over until she felt the tightness in her chest lessen and the calm of a well carried out assassination return. _I will have to write Nazir to let him know that that one is taken care of_, she mentally noted as she visualized the list of names that were her responsibility to carry out during her longer, more complex contract.

The Khajiit was the first contract of five in the area. She would complete the remainder before returning to the sanctuary, as promised, for a meeting with the Night Mother. Then, the new names spoken by their patroness would be divide between herself, Babette, Nazir, and hopefully a new recruit or two until the following month when they would do it all again.

_Until I can finally finish Niruin and go home_, she thought as the towering gates of Riften appeared in the horizon. The idea of returning to the guild was not appealing. The thieves that lived there were not her family and it was not her home.

"I might as well go to that Goldenglow place and get started. Niruin probably isn't there, anyways." She whispered with a sign.

Passing by the gates as the moon rose to its peak, she let her mind wander to happier things, bloodier things.


	9. Composure Lost

**Chapter 8**

Morning came and went and still there was no sign of the newest recruit to the Thieves Guild. Brynjolf began to feel worried.

Pacing about the Flagon, he questioned whether he truly should go and search for the little dark elf or if he should wash his hands of the woman and be glad of it. _She brought us a lot of coin_, he debated on one long turn of the tavern. _But she doesn't seem trustworthy and is very hostile_, was the argument on the next turn. _But that just may have been due to the circumstances of when she joined,_ he returned, thinking of how his drunkenness seemed to spark her threatening behavior.

"Are you going to pace all day long, Brynjolf?" Vex called from her table. "Why don't you sit down and stop worrying about the damned girl?"

"She's my responsibility, Vex. I recruited her." He snapped, rubbing his freshly trimmed beard in exhaustion.

"It's not your fault if she can't handle herself out there." The blonde Nord said into her drink.

"No, your wrong. It _is_ my fault if she's out on a job she can't handle. I'm suppose to make sure none of you gets into a bad situation. The little lass is brand new and shouldn't have been sent out to something not even you could do."

Vex raised an eyebrow and sneered. "You didn't seem to worry when you sent me out there."

"I did worry." Brynjolf said distractedly.

Vex made a noise of disbelief but smiled contentedly at the table. Hiding her satisfaction, she pressed further. "How is this one any different than the others, Bryn? I you are more worked up than you were for the others you recruited."

Brynjolf gave her a look of disbelief. "She's family now, Vex."

"Or is it just that she's got a pair of tits and legs that you haven't had the pleasure of seeing up close and personal?" Vex spat, her temper returning.

"Oh, come off it, Vex! That's not it at all and you know it."

"How do I know it, Brynjolf?" She seethed. "You barely sit down to talk to me, let alone ask me to your bed anymore."

"That was a mistake, Vex, I thought you understood that." Brynjolf returned, his face growing warm as he felt his embarrassment and temper rise.

"Mistakes don't happen twice."

"That one did." He said sternly. "Why don't you just go be with Delvin? The poor lad has been pining over you for years."

"I don't want Delvin." Vex snarled. "I thought I made that very clear to you."

"And I thought I made it very clear how I felt about you." Brynjolf spat, causing tears to pool in her pale blue eyes.

Brynjolf watched her awkwardly as she attempted to compose herself. Running his hands through his hair, he decided it was time to leave the Flagon and do something. Anything. Just to get away from a weeping, lovesick girl.

Rushing back to the cistern, he caught Delvin's eye and shook his head in warning at the direction the Breton was taking.

"I'll take my chances, Brynjolf!" he said happily, continuing on his way to the tavern.

"Idiot is going to get himself killed." He thought, knowing how Vex's temper could shift suddenly and violently.

Deciding that being trapped in the ratway was not the healthiest of options, Brynjolf quickly changed into his guild armor and climbed out into the cool air of Skyrim. A few quick paces and an exchange of coin with the guard, he found himself outside of the city walls facing an open road and open skies.

"Much better!" he exhaled, taking in the colors of late spring. The grass was getting greener and the trees were regaining their thick canopy of leaves. Soon it would be warm enough to travel without heavy furs or extra layers of clothes for warmth.

Looking to the west he saw no signs of a recent fire, much to his disappointment. _What's taking you so long, lass?_ He thought as he began making his way to the honey farm.

At a slight jog, the journey took only an hour. The paths were clear of debris and threats, making the exercise almost enjoyable with the exception of the nagging worry that started to grow as no signs of the elf were found. Soon he found himself by the edge of the lake that surrounded the large estate. He looked around quickly for any signs of a body in the water.

Finding nothing, he stopped and listened. The island was quiet, as was the woods surrounding the lake. Only the wind moving disturbed what seemed to be a calm and perfectly normal day. Moving around the lake, he slowed his pace to see if he could pick up any tracks going towards the lake and the estate. He felt his stomach churn slightly as everything appeared undisturbed as if no one had ever ventured in that direction.

"What happened to you, lass?" he said as the sun began to drift down. He was nearly on the northern edge of the water and had still he found nothing of the girl.

She was his responsibility. Her safety, like the others, was on his shoulders as Second in the guild. As this idea resounded in him, he began to stop caring about her background or her attitude. It didn't matter that she had exchanged words with Delvin or even him, for that matter. She was in the guild, accepted by Mercer. She was his sister in crime and he hadn't even bothered to help her prepare for her task. That bothered him more than anything.

The wind was beginning to pick up, causing him to shiver slightly as he stood by the edge of the cool lake. Glancing around, he noticed a few large rocks a little further down the shoreline that would provide shelter from the Skyrim night while he figured out what he was going to do. He was quickly realizing that it wasn't just a matter of figuring out what happened to the elf but getting the job done. Delvin and Vex failed, Alor failed, and now it fell to him to finish it.

_ And maybe, if I'm lucky, she's just been captured and I will be able to save her._ He was doubtful that that would be the case, but it was better to hope for the best despite all indications that something was wrong.

"She should have never been given this job in the first place." He muttered to himself as he reached the rocks.

They were taller than he imagined, spiking towards the air in thin columns supported by thick bases. At first he thought there was just one or two lining the beach, but he quickly realized it that there were dozens clustered together on the shore. Cautiously, he moved around them, knowing that the woods were full of bears that would love to sit sheltered from the wind just as he did.

"Nothing." He said upon reaching the opposite side. He let out a low breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. Peering at the tower structure, he noticed a large opening facing the water. Moving into the little alcove created by the stones he followed the short descending path that went only a few feet before widening enough to sit. Quickly, his eyes adjust to the added darkness the rocks provided, he let out a small chuckle of surprise upon seeing the left over timber and ash of a recent fire.

"Hello, hello! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes." he muttered as he took out the two small stones he used to start fires from one of the many pockets in his thieves gear. After only three attempts, he started a small fire with the unburned wood, he soon felt the warmth creep back into him.

Looking around more, he appreciated how ideal his campsite was for observing the estate. The rocks protected him from the wind and kept the heat of the fire wrapping around him rather than letting it float away on the cool air. Yet, the fire would be very hard to see from Goldenglow due to the sharp incline of the bank in front of the small shelter provided by the stones. "This would be a perfect spot to scout out our little mercenary problem." He said, the words hitting him as soon as they left his mouth.

_Maybe that's what Alor did!_ He thought with excitement. If he could just figure out where she had been he could maybe piece together where she had attempted to enter the mansion and where she had been caught. Then it would be a matter of seeing if there was anything left of her to save or using her mistakes to aid himself in finishing the job.

Standing quickly, he moved back up the embankment and let the dim light from the fire help his search of the shore. At first, all he could see was his own tracks in the dim flickers the fire provided, but soon he could see other areas where the sand and weeds had been disturbed. Moving closer, he made out what he thought appeared to be a small footprint. Following the direction it appeared to move in he quickly found another, and another, and then a black glove.

"What in Talos' name –" he started as he picked up the glove. It looked like it matched what he remembered the elf wearing. Frowning, he looked further down the beach and spotted another glove, then a boot, followed by the rest of the elf's black leather armor.

He stared dumbfounded at the pile of clothes when suddenly a bright light shone from the island. "Could it be?" he asked as he stared at the light.

As if in answer to his question another light appeared, quickly followed by another. Soon the smell of smoke drifted towards him, as did the yells of the mercenaries standing guard of the mansion.

"She did it?" he stammered as he looked out on the growing flames. "She did it!" he laughed as the screams of the men grew louder, angrier, and more frantic. He could see small shining dots that marked their torches as they searched for the phantom assailant. It was almost comical to see the tiny lights dancing about followed by the echoes of their curses. Brynjolf couldn't help but laugh at it all.

A splash nearby caught his attention. Looking at the lightly lapping waves expectantly, he was soon rewarded with a glimpse of an arm, a kick of a leg, and finally a very wet and very cold dark elf.

He watched her climb from the water and face the mansion. He was sure she hadn't seen him yet as she stood there in naught but a drenched linen shirt that was missing it's sleeves and torn linen pants. He smiled as he heard her make a small happy sound between shivers at the frenzied activity on the island and whisper something into the wind.

"Well done, lass!" he finally said, unable to wait any longer to congratulate his newest thief. She gasped in surprise and quickly spun around, getting in a low stance, a single knife ready for an attack.

"Brynjolf!" she gasped after realizing who he was. "What are you doing here?"

"Mercer told me you were out on your job and you didn't come back after a day. I came out here to see what had become of you." He said casually, handing her the armor she had discarded.

She gladly took them and moved towards the rocks where he had a fire already burning. "You didn't need to come find me. I didn't muck it up for you, Brynjolf." She called back in an angry tone. "I just had something I needed to take care of first."

"Calm down, lass. I know you didn't muck it up. I can see the fires for myself." Brynjolf replied, following her quick steps to the shelter and warmth.

"You couldn't have given me one more day before you come to take my work from me?" she asked, pulling on the leather pants over the wet linen rags.

"You're getting it all wrong," he started, staring at the lean muscles of her back as she moved. "I came to find out what happened to you and figure out if you were dead or not."

"Then what?" she asked, her eyes flashing at him. "What would you have done? Doesn't seem like you thieves really would care one way or another if someone was caught, or killed for that matter. Mercer made that quite clear."

"It's not like that." Brynjolf snapped. "We do care for each other. We're a family, Alor. We care about the welfare of our own."

"Humph, seems like you're the only one that feels that way." She snorted. Grabbing up her cuirass, she pulled it on roughly and began tightening the straps. "I don't see Delvin or Vex out here. And where is Mercer? Why isn't he here if he cares so much for the thieves you accept."

"Watch it, elf. You're walking a very thin line." The Nord cautioned through a clenched jaw. "I came out here to find you. That should mean something."

The elf stopped her motion of dressing and faced him, her face serious. "It does. It means that you take the threats of you leader seriously and were looking out for your own skin. I can read between the lines, Brynjolf. My failure would mean bad things for you. You stand there preaching that this is some sort of family. I don't see it. You only came here because you thought you had to clean up after me. I was right in thinking you were nothing more than bandits that live in a sewer."

Her words were cold and cut him deep. He had never had anyone question his loyalty to guild and its members. He had never once had anyone deny that he cared for those he lived and worked with. He couldn't understand what the elf was so angry about. He had never done anything but shown how much he cared for his people and here she was, questioning him on his motives.

_ She doesn't even know how worried I was when I thought she was dead. Damn the job!_ He thought, his temper rising. _Who is she to question me?_

"Then why did you join?" he shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "Why even listen to me like you were interested and join our little bandit clan if that's all you thought we were!"

"Because I had no choice!" she shouted back at him, her face losing its composure and exposing a mixture of anger and frustration.

"No choice?" the Nord laughed mockingly. "Was money that bad for you, lass? You couldn't find any work as a thug with all your leather armor and sharp knives? No Jarl would hire ya to scare off the unwanteds, would they?"

"I don't particularly like the kind of work they have." She said, her temper clearly rising.

"Bet you tried to get in," he egged on, wanting to hurt her like her words hurt him. "Bet that they didn't even bat an eyelash at a tiny, insignificant little thing like you."

"That's not true." She hissed.

"Oh, it isn't? Then tell me, lass, why are you here with me if you hate the Guild so much?"

"Because I will NEVER work for a Jarl again!" she shouted, throwing her gloves to the ground. "I will never be their little errand girl again. And I won't be yours either. No matter how good the gold is."

He watched in wonder as her cold, hostile demeanor started to crack. He could see her jaw shaking with her anger as her eyes started to become glossy with hot, rage-filled tears. Her small body began to quiver as she moved towards the fire. With jerking passion, she kicked dirt into the small flame, killing it instantly. But She didn't stop. She kept kicking and kicking and kicking, until her tired body gave out on her and she collapsed to the ground.

Brynjolf watched as she took heaving breathes, a slight wheezing noise breaking into the air like a stone into water. In that moment, he felt sorry for the little thing. She looked pathetic, soaked and angry as she was. Moving towards her quaking frame, he gingerly placed a hand on her shoulder. He felt her shiver for a moment and grow stiff, but she didn't shrug him away.

"I want to go home." She said into the cold stones in front of her.

"You can go, lass. No one is forcing you to stay." He said in a comforting voice, a vague regret of his own words filling him.

"No, I can't." she said, glancing back at him with a look of anguish.

"Why not?" he whispered, feeling pity for the elf without really knowing why.

"I can't." she said more forcefully. Roughly, she stood, her face becoming a passive mask that was more concealing than any hood ever could be.

"I'm sorry to hear that, lass." Brynjolf said, understanding the feeling of having somewhere you couldn't return to perfectly. "I was once in your place, too. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to, but I found a home at the Guild. You will too if you just give it a chance."

She gave him a long, skeptical look. "It doesn't feel like a home, Brynjolf. There's no camaraderie there. I mean look at you, here, alone, looking for me. No one else cares. Not about me, not about you, they only care about themselves and money. That's not a family that I want or need."

"That's not true, lass." He said with gentle understanding. "Just give it time and try to act less – threatening. They'll warm up to you. Mercer too."

"I've told you already, I don't do well having to speak to others." She said with a slight smile.

"You're doing fine now." He replied, stooping down and recovering her thrown gloves. "Here, put these on and let's get back."

Alor shook her head, taking the gloves. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Go from being a sleazy, smooth talking con-man, to a drunken idiot, to someone I just confided in."

"It's one of my gifts, lass." He said with a smile. "Now let's go home."


	10. Shadows of the Past

**Chapter 9**

Alor was emotionally and physically exhausted by the time she and Brynjolf reached Riften. Her body screamed its need for sleep as she stumbled clumsily behind the large man. Between the nightmares, the traveling, and doing work for both the Brotherhood and the Guild, she knew she had reached her limit before she was completely unable to function.

"Home at last." Brynjolf muttered as they crept into the sleeping town.

The Listener looked at him carefully, her thoughts still somewhat confused by the evening. She had been shocked to see him waiting for her by the lake and immediately assumed the worse; He had found out her true intentions and was there to confront her. When she realized that that wasn't the case she began to think that he didn't trust that she could do the job causing an anger rise in her that was similar to what she felt when Astrid was still alive. The former Brotherhood leader had doubted Alor's skills and abilities, was distrustful and unbelieving that the Night Mother had spoke, had betrayed her during her most important job for the guild at the time, and the elf felt that it was all happening again.

It wasn't hard to assume that Brynjolf, like Astrid, doubted her abilities and was there to check up on her or even do the job himself. In that moment by the lake, she was sure that was his intentions and hated him for it. Even more, she hated him for the lies he spoke about family and caring in attempts to try convincing her otherwise. She was angry. She was angry at him, angry at the situation, angry at the unfulfilled contract, angry at everything and everyone.

Yet, for all the anger that was coursing through her she felt something in her crack. It was something deep in her soul that she had sealed off years ago, making her cold to the world and all that happened to her. She had put so much behind that invisible wall from her past, to her contempt of the Jarls and everything having to do with being the Dragonborn, to even her own insecurities and fears. All of it she had left unspoken, hidden away inside her waiting to burst free and be faced head on instead of avoided. At some point during her rage, the wall had cracked and some of her heavy baggage began to leak through.

Then the tears had come. She hadn't cried since she was a girl shortly after the death of her grandfather. That was the last time she had the luxury to feel and process the world around her. After his death everything had changed and she changed with it to survive.

Alor had attempted to stem the tears, but she had felt them claiming her cheeks as she fell to the ground in the middle of the Skyrim wilderness. With each tear it seemed her chest felt emptier and her shoulders lighter. Yet, despite the reprieve crying had provided she felt like she had lost something. Some little bit of control that she had maintained over herself for most of her life seemed to be slipping away. She felt afraid again, like she had all those years ago when she left Cyrodiil or when she first felt the rush of a dragon soul enter her body. The unknown of those times and now with the Thieves Guild was frightening and completely out of her control.

In that moment of internal chaos she had felt so lost for her home with the Brotherhood and a piece of normalcy that she found herself speaking her weaknesses to a nearly complete stranger. Yet, he had comforted her. Brynjolf, the Nord thief, had actually placed a hand on her and comforted her without a thought to what she had just screamed at him or about his obvious misgivings about her. With that simple act, the Listener didn't feel as empty or alone.

Lost deep in her own thoughts, she barely heard the Nord speaking as they reached the Riften cemetery. Looking up at him, she could tell he had just said something important and was waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry, what?" she mumbled, her mind feeling dull after the storm that had coursed through her.

Brynjolf shook his head impatiently. "I said that this is our secret entrance to the cistern. All you have to do is activate the switch on the sarcophagus. Be sure you remember it."

"Ok." She said lamely.

"Alright, then." He said, giving a small ornament on the stone coffin a quick push. Slowly the lid slid back to reveal a small set of stairs followed by a ladder. Alor quietly followed the Guild's second until they were safely concealed in the ratway again.

"No go get some sleep." Brynjolf whispered, not wanting to wake the few thieves that were happily asleep.

Without a word she did as he told.

Brynjolf watched the elf move slowly to her bed on the far side of the cistern and flop listlessly onto the straw mattress. He was concerned for her and how she had reacted out near Goldenglow. Clearly there was something troubling the girl, but what it was he could only guess at.

All he knew is that her voice was both desperate and fearful when she said she wanted to leave and go home. It had been the most _human_ thing she had done since appearing in the ratway.

_It must have been bad whatever happened that she can't go home, _he thought sadly. In his own experience betrayal was about the only thing that could cause a strong enough rift between a family that a member was cast out forever. _Or at least the belief of betrayal_, he thought bitterly as he moved towards his own bed and dropped down wearily. As he pulled up his large fur blanket, he felt his body relax but his mind was nowhere near ready for sleep. The sound of her voice called him back to his own problems and past. He tried to shut his eyes and will sleep to come as the image of his brother and his bride kept flitting across his mind.

It had been years since he had truly thought of them and the rest of his family. He had so successfully filled the hole they had left in him with the Guild that they seemed like someone else's life. Brynjolf, second in the Thieves Guild, was not a part of the world of fancy dinners, masked balls, or family fortunes. That life belonged to someone long dead from this world.

Sighing, he opened his eyes and listened to the soft hum of peaceful breathing. _No, this is my home_, he thought, _and it will be a home for her too._


	11. Coping

**AN: There is a little more violence in this chapter. If that bothers you, please don't read further.**

**Chapter 10**

A sharp tap stung the Listener's leg, waking her from a deep, dreamless sleep. The prickling pain awoke her immediately as adrenaline coursed through her body at the surprise attack. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed the hand of the unknown assailant and twisted it sharply while drawing one of her knives.

"Ahh!" came a masculine cry as wakeful consciousness slowly began to clear her mind.

"A lovely specimen, Brynjolf. She sleeps in a mask and everything." The voice of Mercer Frey echoed in the large cistern.

Fully awake, Alor found herself standing half on her bed, half off, one hand holding Brynjolf's wrist in a position that was one push away from snapping it while the other held her knife up to his neck. Quickly she released the Nord from her grip and backed away in embarrassment.

"You startled me, Brynjolf." She said, avoiding eye contact with the scowling Breton and shocked Nord.

"No, I startled you." Mercer replied, holding up the short sword he had used to wake her with. "It's nearly evening and you haven't done anything to bring in gold today."

"Like I said before, Mercer, she was out all night doing the Goldenglow job." Brynjolf explained in an exasperated voice.

"So you claim."

"What do you mean?" Alor asked, her voice lined with annoyance.

"It's odd that the job only got done after Brynjolf runs off after you." Mercer started. "I don't need a lazy elf eating the food I provide and having other thieves do her work."

"He didn't help me!" she shouted, her hands becoming small fists.

"Really? And you didn't get a single scratch? I find that hard to believe."

"Mercer," Brynjolf commanded, "Stop this now. The girl did the job for you and she did it well. You should be congratulating her instead of lecturing her."

Mercer gave the Nord a quick glare, his mouth twitching slightly at the interruption. "Fine, Brynjolf. She did the job. Now tell me what you found."

The Listener shuddered as the Breton's intense gaze locked on her waiting for the information she had. Quickly, she loosened her armor and pulled of the cuirass. She barely noticed the lewd look the Breton shot at his second as she pulled a piece of paper from underneath her linen shirt. "This was in the safe."

Mercer snatched the paper from her hand and quickly smoothed out the large wrinkles and folds. Alor watched his facial expressions as she put her armor back on, noting how it went from thoughtful to surprised to enraged in a matter of seconds.

"Aringoth sold Goldenglow? What's that idiot thinking?" Brynjolf asked, his forehead wrinkling in confusion as he read over Mercer's shoulder.

"He won't be thinking much when Maven finds out about this." Mercer seethed.

"If only the parchment had the buyer's name instead of this odd symbol, any idea what it might be, lass?" he asked, his blue eyes giving her an encouraging look.

"No."

"Blast. Well, what now, Mercer?"

"Nothing until I speak to Maven." The Breton answered quickly before stomping towards the cistern's entrance to Riften.

"This is not good." Brynjolf muttered, watching Mercer's retreating form. "Maven is not going to be happy about this."

Alor ignored him, sitting on the edge of her bed and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "How's your wrist?"

"My what?" Brynjolf started before grasping the change in topic, "Oh, that. It's fine. A wee thing like you couldn't do much damage."

The assassin smiled, images of just how she could do him damage dancing about her head. _I've killed bigger_, she thought with a little laugh.

"It's good to see you're in a better mood from last night." The Nord said, giving her a look of concern that embarrassed her.

"I'm fine. It won't happen again." She said savagely.

"Calm down, lass. We all have our moments. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Even I had a few episodes of anger when I first joined. It's natural." He said calmly.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Alor snapped. She hated being coddled after all that she had been through and had done. _If he only knew who I was and what I can do he wouldn't be patronizing me like this,_ she thought bitterly.

"I'm telling you because I realized that I haven't done my best to make you feel welcomed here. I recruited you and then abandoned you after you showed up in the Flagon. I shouldn't have done that. I know that coming here can be a harsh transition from a very different life." He explained, sitting on the bed opposite of her.

"You have no idea." She muttered, looking away from his intense, blue eyes.

"I do have an idea, lass." He returned, his accented voice soft and gentle. It was like the voice her grandfather had used when she was a child and had scrapped her knees. She felt herself barely listening to his words but focusing on his tone and the happy memories it conjured.

"I came to the Guild when I was fifteen." The Nord continued. "And it wasn't by choice. It was a necessity. As much as I hated it at first, I know now that I was lucky to be good at this line of work. It not only kept me from starving, but it gave me a new family to be a part of. I want that for you, too."

His last words cut through her personal thoughts and brought her back to the cistern. She felt her forehead wrinkle and her lips purse under her mask with confusion. _He wants me to be happy here? What sort of game is he playing?_ _He must want something from me_.

"You don't even like me, Brynjolf. Why do you care if I'm happy or not?" she asked. "And don't you dare say it's because I'm in your little family now."

"That is part of it, Alor." He admitted, "But you're not all bad. You've done three jobs already and have made us a lot of coin."

"So I'm an asset, is that it?" she replied with a hint of bitterness.

"I don't know what you're looking for, lass, but in my mind that's a damned good compliment. If you were hoping that I would say that you were a pleasure to be around, well, I think both you and I would know that's a lie. The truth is that you have proven to me that you are an amazing sneak. But are you an amazing companion? Can I trust you that you won't terrorize half the Guild or turn your back on your fellow thieves when things get hairy?"

_If you were in the Brotherhood, you could. But here…_ "I don't know, Brynjolf." She heard herself answering truthfully, despite knowing a resounding _yes_ would have been better for her cover.

"At least your honest with me. That's the first step." Brynjolf said with a smile that lit his face. "Take your time, do some work for Delvin or Vex, and come see me if you need anything." He finished, standing stiffly from the low sitting bed.

She watched him curiously as he walked away and suddenly stopped, turning back towards her. "And one more thing, lass."

"What?"

"Lose the mask." he smiled before resuming his quick, confident pace towards the training room.

_Over my dead body_, she thought, unconsciously touching the worn leather that had protected her identity for years. It was a comfort and a necessity that she would never dream of giving up. Being recognized was the last thing she wanted. She had fled Cyrodiil just to escape anyone that might recognize her, whether it was her father's friends or the Imperial Guard. Neither were groups of people she ever wanted to catch wind of her existence ever again.

_Once they know your face, they own you,_ she told herself resolutely, determined to keep her mask in place as much as possible.

_ I suppose I should get some work to do. _She thought, looking about the nearly empty cistern. She wished the Bosmer would show up, but with the way her luck was going she doubted that he would be there any time soon.

Getting up with a slight stretch, she began making her way to the Flagon where she knew she would find at least Delvin, if not Vex.

Walking softly, she listened to the low voices tinkling into the hall from the ghostly tavern. "She's nothing special." She heard Vex say angrily. "Just because she finished the Goldenglow job doesn't mean anything. Besides, Brynjolf probably helped her do it."

"Be careful what you say." Delvin said darkly. "She's not one to mess around with."

The Listener smiled at the fear she inspired in the thief, knowing that her secret was safe so long as he continued to fear her. "What are you going on about, Delvin? Is this some part of the _curse_ we're under?" Vex's voice rang out, dripping with mockery and sarcasm.

"I would say she is. That girl is trouble." Delvin replied, getting a chuckle from his counterpart. "You would do well to just stay out of her way until she leaves."

"What makes you think she's going to leave?" came the voice of Dirge. "Brynjolf says she's got some talent."

"She'll leave." Delvin said confidently. "She may be good, but thievin' isn't her thing."

_He's smarter than he looks,_ she thought as she causally entered the Flagon, acting as if she heard nothing. "I need work." She announced, giving Delvin a hard stare as she did so.

He fumbled with his glass and looked away while Vex shook her head at him. "Really."

"Aren't you suppose to have work for me?" Alor asked, looking between the two thieves impatiently.

"Yes, Delvin, don't you have a job for our new recruit?" Vex echoed wickedly, turning to Dirge with her drink.

"I, um, let's see..." he started, his features flustered.

The Listener glided towards him and laid one of her gloved hands on his shoulder, the shudder that resulted giving her a satisfying feeling of power. "Don't worry, Breton. I won't bite…yet." She whispered as she watched his nostrils flare.

"Why are you here?" he whispered back, barely audible over the creaks and groans of the ratway and loud laughs of Vex and Dirge.

"Don't be brave now, Delvin. It would be most unfortunate if I had to make good on my word. Just remember, dismemberment is suppose to be an incredibly long and painful death." She breathed in his ear, sweat gathering on his brow.

"I should have never helped you. I only did it because I owed Astrid." He muttered, more to himself then her.

"Your debt was paid, but you acted stupidly in remembering me. Just know I am watching you very, very carefully." She hissed. "Now tell me about this job." She finished, backing away from him quickly.

Wiping his brow, he did his best to compose himself. "I've got a job up in Solitude, if you're interested."

_Solitude, I could go home for a night or two without it being suspicious_, she thought happily. "Tell me more? What do I have to do?"

"There's this inn, The Winking Skeever," he started, jumping slightly as the back door opened and thudded shut. He gave a quick glance to Sapphire and Brynjolf who were discussing some job fairly heatedly on their way to the bar.

"Go on." The assassin ordered, tapping her foot impatiently.

"It's a numbers job. You have to change the information in the ledger so it don't look suspicious when things turn up missing." He explained, continuing to dart glances at an oblivious Brynjolf.

"No. I can't do that job." She answered disappointedly. "Do you have anything else?"

"What do you mean you can't do it?" Delvin said in a loud shrill, causing the others to glance their way.

"I can't do that job." She repeated darkly. "Give me another one."

"That's the only job I have right now!" he exclaimed.

"What's the problem there?" Brynjolf said from the bar.

"She won't do a job I gave her." Delvin said quickly, moving towards the towering Nord.

"What? Why won't you take the job, lass?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"I just can't. I can't do it." She repeated, anger and embarrassment rising in her stomach.

"Looks like our new recruit is getting cold feet." Vex laughed, Dirge following in suit.

"Lass, if you ask for a job you take what you're given. That's the rules." Brynjolf explained, throwing a sharp look at Vex and Dirge.

"You don't understand. I CANNOT do this job. It's not that I don't want to. I can't do it." She replied.

"Why not?"

She looked down at her feet, feeling the blood rise on her skin under her mask. "Because I don't know how to write." She muttered softly.

"What was that, lass. I couldn't hear you."

"I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE!" she shouted, glaring at anyone who dared to judge her while the voices from her past whispered in her mind how stupid she was and that she must be worthless.

Brynjolf gave her a questioning look, "You mean you don't write well?"

"No, I don't know how to write at all." She replied, embarrassed and angry. She had never learned as a child due to her family's poverty and her neglectful mother. When she joined the Brotherhood Babette had attempted to teach her, but it seemed a lost cause. Instead, the child-vampire and Nazir had taught her a simple code to use if she ever needed to send them a letter; A line for a contract, a slash through it if they were dead, and finally a circle if she needed help.

It had worked well for her the past four years. The two symbols were easy enough that she could draw them on a paper quickly, without thinking too hard about what her clumsy hand was doing with the quill. Since then she had no need to think about writing or her embarrassment that she didn't know how.

Her face felt hot as a small snort of laughter escaped from Vex. Brynjolf gave her a look before turning back to Delvin. "No number jobs for her, alright?"

"Got it." He answered quickly. "Maybe Vex has something for her."

"Nothing she would be able to handle." the tall blond muttered.

"Vex, remember what I said." Brynjolf warned.

She muttered something under her breath and curled her lip into a sneer. "Fine, I have a job that doesn't require _any writing_."

Alor felt her anger rising at the mockery, her hands itching to wrap themselves around the Nord woman's neck.

"That's enough, Vex." Brynjolf said curtly. "Just give her the job and get back to your drinking."

"Fine, Brynjolf. You're the second, after all. I'll just do as I'm told and shut up." Vex hissed, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Good." He replied, crossing his arms, waiting.

"The job is in Whiterun. All you have to do is break into the house of a Nord named Ysolda. She has a jeweled flagon. Steal it and bring it back here." Vex said quickly, turning back to her drink without waiting for questions.

Alor didn't wait for anyone else to say anything. Turning on heel, she sped towards the door of the ratway seeking to escape the embarrassment she had just endured. _Sithis, I will kill them all_, she thought as she quickly moved through the darkening town and into the wilderness. She knew the roads well and let her feet carry her while she stewed in her anger and frustration.

It wasn't until Riften was well out of sight that she met anyone on the road. It was a group of Stormcloak soldiers escorting a legion prisoner. As always when she wasn't able to cope with what she was feeling she let her instincts take control. The unsuspecting group of men didn't even see her until two of the soldiers lay dead on the ground, their throats slit deeply by one of her small knives.

"What in Talos' name!" one of the remaining two Stormcloaks yelled, releasing the rope that was tied to the prisoner's hands.

"To the Void with you!" she shouted, lunging forward and digging her knife deep into his chest. The man fell back, the wound slow and fatal. The other soldier rushed towards her with his battle-axe drawn. The Listener laughed as she dodged the slow strike and moved her blade along his throat.

"P-p-please d-don't kill m-me!" the prisoner begged from where he stood bound.

"Sithis is calling." The assassin whispered as she stuck her blade in him again and again and again, until his lifeless torso no longer had skin that had not been struck.

She shuddered as she felt the relief of the kill wash over her. The smell of iron and purge swirled around her like a comforting blanket, calming her heaving frame. Looking down, she saw her black leather shine as the moonlight reflected off the blood that had soaked her. _I am not worthless._ She told herself, looking at her handiwork with pride. _I am not stupid_.

Moving from the circle of carnage, she placed her knife back at her waist and continued on towards Whiterun without a second thought.


	12. An Understanding

**Chapter 11**

It had been two days since Alor had fled the Ragged Flagon. Brynjolf had been furious with the way his thieves had acted. He had told them earlier to try to make the new recruit feel welcome, to take her under their wings. Instead they had mocked her. Vex especially.

"Damned fool." He muttered as he tightened the straps of his bracers and boots. He knew she was doing it to get back at him for ending their brief relationship. There was no other reason for her act as she did.

_Delvin's a fool for wanting her_, he thought angrily, strapping on his set of knives a bit more roughly than was necessary. The thought of Delvin made him angry, too. He knew that the young Breton was uncomfortable with the little elf, even scared of her. He even understood why, having witnessed their brief interaction a day into the elf being in the Guild. But he hadn't noticed any poor behavior by Alor since then. In fact, when he had entered the Flagon that night she seemed to be confiding in Delvin with how close they were standing. Something was not right with how upset Delvin was over the elf being there.

_Probably more of his superstitions_, he thought, mentally noting to keep an eye on him and Alor in the future, just in case. _Once I find her, that is_.

Marching from the ratway into Riften, he found himself going after the little elf for the second time in only a week. Normally he wouldn't worry if a thief took extra time on an easy burglary job, but with how things were when she left, Brynjolf wanted to catch her before she got back so they could talk.

"If she comes back." He said to the moonlit sky outside of Riften.

Moving down the path a good distance, he found a nearby rock and sat on it while he watched the road. Time moved by in its sluggish way, the full moon moving its course from the east to the west without interruption from the world below.

"Poor lass." Brynjolf found himself whispering to the wind. To not be able to write was not a common thing in Skyrim. Most Nords had a rudimentary concept of characters, words, and basic spelling if not a full grasp of their language. He could understand her embarrassment over being illiterate and why she had looked so angry when Vex had begun to laugh.

Turning his gaze back to the empty road, he laughed at how strange it was that he was sitting out in the cold waiting for a confused and angry recruit. "Just like Gallus with me."

It was so many years ago when he had stumbled into Riften, cold, hurt, and angry at being thrown from his family by a filthy lie. He hadn't eaten in days and his fine clothes were embarrassingly dirty. He had gone down by the docks, hoping that he could catch a fish or scavenge something to eat, but instead of finding food he had been found by Gallus.

"I wonder if I was as big of a headache to him." He said with a little laugh, remembering how he agreed to do a job in exchange for a little gold. It was almost as if Gallus could see his strengths, sending him on a simple con, selling fake 'family heirlooms' to one of the merchants. His fine clothes, dirty as they were, and smooth words had made the job easy, earning him a hot meal and a warm bed.

It was the next day that he had started to regret what he had done. Brynjolf had been mischievous in his youth, but he had never broken the law. When he thought about the con he had felt sick to his stomach and ashamed. Gallus had convinced him, though, to try another job. Brynjolf did and felt even worse afterwards. That's when he ran away.

He shuddered when he thought about how cold those two nights had been in the mountains surrounding Riften. His clothes, though lined with fur, were not meant for extensive travel and did little to protect him from the sharp bite of the wind. He had no idea how to start a fire in the wilderness and was without a weapon, making hunting out of the question.

Brynjolf could still remember the cold hunger he felt the second day he was in the wilderness, realizing that it was either steal or starve. No one else had taken him in, despite his prominent last name. It was like they had all heard of his banishment and refused to even recognize him. Everyone but Gallus.

He had realized that Gallus didn't care about what rumors had followed his exile from Solitude. Instead, he had offered him food and shelter at the price of telling small lies for gold. He had nearly run down the mountain, thinking of all the ways to convince the thieves to take him back when Gallus stepped out from the treeline and greeted him like an equal.

It was only later that he learned that the veteran thief had watched the direction he had went and sat waiting for him for almost all of the two days. When Brynjolf had asked him about it later, Gallus had merely replied that Brynjolf had done work for the Guild and was therefore family. That had meant the world to the young, redheaded boy.

A sharp blast of wind whistled through the trees and through supple leather armor that Brynjolf wore. He shivered as he watched the path for any signs of the elf. "Come on, lass." He said, rubbing his hands over his arms.

He had been sitting there for hours, waiting in the cold, but he wouldn't leave. He had grown a soft spot for the new recruit, their differences aside. Her past was clearly different from his own, but the situation he had found her in was similar. Tattered clothes, unable to return home, feeling a loss for family, it all reminded him of himself and he wanted her to feel welcomed like he did and be a contributing member of his family.

Turning his attention back to the road, he waited and watched for any signs of life. It was nearly two hours longer before he caught a glimpse of black figure moving gracefully through the trees on the other side of the road. He watched it intently as it drew closer, making out what appeared to be a small, human figure. _That has to be her._

Standing up, he decided it would be best to call out to the elf rather than startle her like he had a few nights prior. Moving from his rock to the edge of the road, he waited for the figure to get closer until he finally called out, "Lass!"

The figure stopped and stood motionless. "Lass!" he said again. "It's me."

"Brynjolf?" came Alor's familiar voice. "What are you doing here?"

He was glad to hear no signs of anger in her voice. She had been far too angry for far too long in the short amount of time he knew her. "I wanted to meet you on your way back and see how the job went." He lied easily.

"It went fine." She said somewhat skeptically, but she did not seem to be getting hostile. "Now why are you really here?"

Brynjolf moved to the center of the road and waited for her to walk towards him before speaking again. "I wanted to apologize for what happened at the Flagon and I wanted to be sure you were alright."

Her eyes squinted as two small patches of her gray eyebrows came together in what could only be a frown. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm not going to force you to, but I wanted you to know that I don't think any less of you just because you can't write."

"You don't think much of me to begin with." She said with a snort, crossing her arms as the wind picked up.

"That's not true." He said genuinely. "I think we got off on a bad foot. The elf from the market was not the same person that showed up in the Flagon. I didn't give you a chance."

"Well, I did threaten Delvin." She said with a shrug.

"Why did you, lass?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. "He won't tell me what you were talking about. Seems you scared him right good."

"He claimed that he knew me from somewhere that I don't want to be associated with." She answered, her eyes opening wide with significance.

"Like a brothel?" Brynjolf asked, reading her body language.

"Something like that."

"Oh ho," he laughed, slapping his leg. "I can only imagine what you said to him!"

"Just to keep his mouth shut if he valued certain parts of his body." The elf replied lightly, rocking side to side on her heels.

The Nord continued to laugh at what he now believed to be a perfectly reasonable situation. Delvin did visit some _colorful_ places and definitely had more contacts in the shadier parts of Skyrim. Perhaps the elf did work for some establishment of pleasure at one time and was trying to escape the lifestyle. He couldn't judge her too harshly considering that many of his thieves were former bandits and thugs.

"It's not funny." Alor said, her tone growing impatient.

"I'm sorry, lass. You're right." He said, calming himself. "You know, you're a lot like me when I first joined."

"I doubt that." She said with a huff.

"I'm serious, lass." He replied, motioning for her to walk with him back to Riften. "I had to knock a few heads, too, before people started taking me seriously. Only the thief that recruited me seemed to have any faith in my abilities."

"Who was that? Mercer?"

"No. It was Mercer's best friend, Gallus. He died some years ago."

"Oh." She said, letting the sounds of night interrupt them for a few paces. "Why did you join the Guild?"

Brynjolf sighed as he let the few images he had of his former home flash behind his eyes. No one but Gallus knew his full background. Some, perhaps, had guessed, but they could never be sure since he had taken on a different name when he left home. It was the only way to avoid the disgusted stares from complete strangers who had heard the rumors coming from Solitude.

"There was a tragedy in my family. Some thought I was responsible and forced me to leave." He said vaguely.

"Were you responsible?" she asked, her eyes watching him intensely.

"No. I always believed my older brother was." He answered, his voice carrying a note of sadness. "Now that's more than anyone in the Guild knows about me. I'm only telling you because I think you can appreciate losing a home."

"Yes." She answered, her eyes shifting away. "I can."

"Tell me lass, why did you come here?" he asked, giving her an encouraging glance.

"Where? To Riften or Skyrim?"

"Either."

She stopped walking and looked up towards the sky. Brynjolf watched her curiously for some hint of what was going through her head. "I lived in the Imperial city," she started softly. "My father, he…he was a drunk. Mother was addicted Skooma."

"I think I understand." Brynjolf said as she let her voice trail off and a stormy look covered her red eyes.

The pair continued on, silence falling between them. Soon the looming walls of the corrupt city were in sight, growing larger and larger by the minute. "You know, lass, you can trust me." Brynjolf said as they approached the gate.

"I know." She answered.

"You know?"

"Yes. You're like my grandfather."

Brynjolf felt himself smile. _All she needed was someone to care_, he thought he saw the friendlier side of Dunmer. _Just like me_.

Entering the city, he trailed behind her slightly as they wandered down to the ratway. Reaching the Flagon, he was glad to see it empty for once. "Want a something to drink?"

"Water." She said sinking into a wooden chair, pulling the jeweled horn and some loose gems from the small pack at her side.

Brynjolf grabbed her a glass of water, getting a glass of mead for himself. Moving from around the bar he took the seat opposite of her. He watched as she untied her mask, giving him a small smile.

"You did well on your job." He said casually, handling a few of the gems to assess their worth. "I would say nearly a thousand gold with the gems alone."

"I got it off a trader that I passed on the road." She said with a shrug.

"You robbed a caravan?" he said impressed.

"Something like that." She said, looking away while picking some grit from armor.

"I'm proud of you, lass. You really have taken to being a thief. And I'm glad you decided to come back." He admitted. "You do your work well. The Guild needs someone like you."

"That I doubt." She said with a snort.

"I'm serious, lass. You've moved a lot of coin through here and have even sparked some of the others to get off their arses and work. In fact, after Vex learned you finished Goldenglow she went and finished three jobs that she's had for months."

"Brynjolf, you don't have to lie to make me feel better." She said stiffly. "And you don't have to try to make me feel welcomed. I'm here, I'm doing the work, that's all that matters."

"I'm not lying, Alor, and you are welcomed here. I recruited you, Mercer accepted you, and you've done your work. You are part of my family now. The others will warm up soon enough."

"I don't care if they do." She spat, finishing her water and standing to leave.

"Don't push everyone away, lass. That's what I'm trying to tell you. You can have a home here. You just have to want it."

"I'll think about." She said, leaving him alone in the tavern to finish his drink.

_She's got a spark,_ he thought as he watched her lean form disappear with a smile. Rubbing the small growth of stubble on his face he found himself thinking about all the facets of the elf's personality. She had a hard exterior but he had seen a more vulnerable side to her. _She was even pleasant tonight!_

Picking up one of the sapphires that she had brought back he smiled. _She's worth the trouble_, he thought, visions of the Guild returning to its former glory playing through his head. _It's just going to take some time_.


	13. A Stab in the Dark

**AN: Thank you everyone who has favorited or reviewed. There has been some really good criticism and some very nice compliments. I hope to have four or five chapters up in the next few days. Please let me know what you think!**

**Chapter 12**

The Guild quickly fell into a new rhythm. After his little chat with Alor, Brynjolf had noticed a change in her. She seemed more relaxed and less aggressive than she had that first night in the Flagon. Still, he made a point to watch her carefully in the three weeks following her return from Whiterun, making sure nothing was amiss between her and the other thieves. Although Delvin still kept his distance and Vex was curt and snappish, the little elf was able to get jobs without further incident.

Brynjolf also continued to meet her outside of the city walls after her jobs, noticing that she was much more open when there was no one else around. In only three weeks he had not only learned that she had travelled most of Skyrim, she had seen much of Cyrodiil before crossing the border and nearly being beheaded. He began to look forward to the chats, feeling a strange bond starting to form between them. She was still very secretive and vague about anything involving her past directly, but she was beginning to open up. She even took her mask off whenever she spoke with him, a habit, he noticed, that she only did with him.

He felt proud of his recruit and the success she was starting to find as a thief. In the short three weeks since her first job from Vex, she had made more money than the Guild had seen in many, many months. Even Mercer was starting to take notice of the elf, questioning Brynjolf about her almost daily.

It was after one of his daily meetings with the Breton that Alor had surprised him and asked to speak with him for a moment. He could tell by the way she frowned that she had something on her mind.

"I need to leave for a week." She had said, her red eyes locking on his, waiting for approval.

"What for, lass?" he remembered asking, causing her to shift slightly before answering.

"I have an _obligation_ I need to take care of."

"Do you need anything before you go?" he had asked, getting a smile and a quick _no_. He had watched her go with little more than her knives and her rarely used mace. She didn't offer any more information on what she needed to do and where she was going, but he had started to trust her and didn't press her for more information.

That had been nearly two weeks ago and Brynjolf was getting worried. _She said a week_, he thought while tugging on his tangled hair. Each day she didn't return he began to worry more. Mercer even started to look slightly worried since Maven Black-Briar had asked to speak with the elf personally the day before.

"Dirge, give me another one." He called towards the bar, getting a quick nod from the thug. He had spent every night since she hadn't returned in the Flagon hoping to see her walk in from the ratway, arms loaded in stolen goods.

The door opened, causing Brynjolf's head to shoot up. He felt disappointment rise in him when he realized it was only Cynric Endell, a former jailbreaker and current thief, returned from a job.

"Hey, Brynjolf!" the Breton said cheerful, dropping his bow and quiver by the bar.

"Evening, Cynric. How was the job?" he asked, his heart not really in the conversation.

"Good. Three weeks and nearly seven-thousand gold." He said, taking a deep drink from his mug. "Also, brought back some loot from Thrynn and Niruin. They seem to be doing well in Markarth."

"How anyone would think that they were priests is beyond me." Delvin laughed from the table he shared with Vex.

"It's the job that's beyond me! Preaching and collecting gold from travelers, sounds so dull." Vex mused in her normal, irritated tone.

"If it makes the Guild coin then it's worth it." Brynjolf replied, turning back to Cynric. "Glad that you're back. Viper and Rune got back yesterday."

"This place is starting to livin' up a bit." Dirge laughed. "Now we just need your little elf to come back, Brynjolf, and the whole family will almost be here."

"She's not coming back." Vex said with a scowl.

"She's coming back." Brynjolf said sternly.

Vex rolled her eyes and made a little noise of disbelief. "She's nearly a week late, Bryn."

"Something must be keeping her," the Nord started, his face getting red from drink and frustration. "She would have left long before this if she didn't intend on coming back."

"I know she's your little _protégé_," Vex snapped, flashing a crude sign, "But it's really pathetic how you're fooling yourself. She's not coming back. She must have grown tired of your _alone time_."

Brynjolf didn't reply. Instead he left his drink where it sat and headed towards the cemetery entrance, ignoring the calls of the fierce blonde to come back and that she was only joking. _I just need some air_,he decided as he rushed up the stone steps into the cool Riften night.

He walked out towards an unkempt stone bench that was overrun by nightshade. His legs felt loose and his body warm with the drink he had consumed. He was not yet drunk, but he was only two or three pints away from it.

In the distance he could make out the occasional strum of a lute or the murmur of drunken shouts from the Bee and Barb as the nighttime revelers came and went. As warmth and carelessness ran through his veins from his mead, he began to sing to himself in broken, choppy waves.

"There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red," he started, tapping his foot to an invisible rhythm. "Who hmm hmmm hmm Whiterun from ol' Rorikstead!"

A door slammed nearby, breaking his singing for only a moment. "Hmm hmmm hmm did swagger and brandish his blade, as he told of bold battles and gold he had made!"

"But then hmm hmmm hmm hmmm Ragnar the Red," he continued his deep voice filling the little cemetery. "When he met the shieldmaiden, Matilda who said…"

A soft shuffling noise echoed nearby. Brynjolf stood, the rest of the words to his song dropping off. The noise came closer, its uneven pattern moving quickly then slowly then quicker again. _Some drunk on his way home_, he thought disinterestedly, sitting back on his bench. The noise kept coming towards him, though, instead of following the wooden walkways that passed by every house.

Standing again, he listened intently. "Who's there?" he called out as the steps almost reached the entry to the graveyard.

"Brynjolf –" came the voice of the little elf in a sharp gasp.

"Alor?" he called out, moving in the direction of the noise. "By Talos!" he exclaimed when he saw her leaning against the wall, a hand at her left side. Quickly grabbing her shoulders to support her, he felt a sticky moisture cover his hands.

"What happened to you?" he asked, his heart thumping loudly as he noticed her eyes looked dim and her hands were shaking over a long, trickling wound.

"Stabbed." She wheezed out, her voice weak with exhaustion and blood loss.

The tall Nord didn't ask her anything else after seeing the length and depth of the wound. It was bad. Without a second thought, he lifted her up in one fluid motion and rushed towards the secret entrance. He cursed at the inching nature of the stone sarcophagus, kicking at it to make it move faster.

"You just hold on, lass." He ordered the elf who was starting to mumble incoherently. He rushed through the empty cistern and into the training room where a small chest filled with potions waited for him.

Gently laying the Dunmer on a pile of hay, he quickly moved to the chest and pulled out any potions that would heal or to clean the wound of any diseases.

"Voth ahkrin kotin vulom" she muttered from where she lay, the gibberish sending a chill down the Nord's spine.

"Alor, stay with me!" he yelled, rushing back to her side with his potions.

"Brynjolf?" she asked as he pulled off her hood and mask to get access to her mouth. "It was a good kill." She smiled deliriously as he uncorked a pink bottle.

"I'm sure it was, lass." He said distractedly as he began to pour the bitter potion down her throat.

She coughed and sputtered as the potion burned its way into her system. Brynjolf knew that they would take some time to work, fearing that it might be too late by the paleness of her gray skin. "I have to get your armor off, Alor." He said frantically. "I need to get at that wound."

She muttered something he couldn't make out as he lifted her torso into his lap and began to undue the blood soaked straps. "This can't be all your blood." He commented as he pulled the leather and her linen undershirt over her head and arms.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she began to scream as he moved towards the left side of her stomach that was gushing warm blood even faster now that the restrictive armor was gone.

"ALOR! I have to stitch your wound!" he exclaimed. He looked at her and was shocked at the pained, panicked look that covered her normally emotionless face. Her brow was covered in a cold sweat that began to make little paths through the drying blood on her face.

"No, no, no," she began pleading, her eyes unfocused and dim. "Don't touch me. I don't want this! Please!"

Brynjolf ignored her ravings, knowing that if he didn't stop the bleeding the potion wouldn't have time to help heal her internally. "Alor, I'm going to try to stitch this shut. It's going to hurt."

He doubted she actually heard his words as she continued to talk to people only she could see.

"Stop this, please!" her voice called out weakly as he stuck her with a thick needle. "Why are you still hurting me? I killed you! You're dead! You can't touch me anymore!"

"Hold on, lass. I'm almost done." He said, watching her face as it moved into a horrible smile.

"You bled, father!" she laughed faintly, her skin growing paler. "Mother, too!"

Finishing the stitches, he was happy to see the blood was unable to seep from her body as it had. Grabbing another pink bottle, he opened it quickly tipped her head back.

"Blood! Blood! Blood!" she chanted her eyes staring past Brynjolf's concerned face.

"Open your mouth, Alor!" he commanded, his words falling on deaf ears. Roughly, he used his free hand to pry her mouth open, causing her to raise her weak fists and attempt to fight him off. "Hold still!" he yelled, dumping the potion into her mouth.

She choked and coughed, but he was happy to see that most of the potion was swallowed. Quickly, he grabbed the potion to cure diseases and forced it into her as he did with the health solutions.

"That's all I can do, lass." He said sadly, putting his large, calloused hand on her small forehead and brushing her dark hair from her eyes. He continued to stroke her hair as her lips moved noiselessly. "What were you doing out there?"

"Work." She whispered, her eyes lazily focusing in on the Nord's face before she shut them and fell into unconsciousness.

"Talos," he swore, feeling her wrist and neck to make sure she still had a pulse. It was weak, but it was regular. Looking around, he wondered if he should leave her and get help from the thieves in the Flagon. _What would they do that I haven't?_

"They would do nothing." He muttered, still crouched on the floor with half of the elf's body on his legs. He watched her breathing obsessively, making sure each breath was even and didn't sound gargled.

"I don't think you've punctured a lung," he muttered, "Or the diaphragm. But the rest of your insides are another story."

He checked the stitches to makes sure they were intact, pushing slightly on her abdomen to see if there was excess fluid due to internal bleeding. "Not bad," he muttered, relieved by what he felt.

Moving the weight of her torso onto the floor, he retrieved her armor with the intent of laying it on her for warmth. "The blasted thing is soaked!" he exclaimed, his hands coming off of the black leather red and moist. "That just can't all be your blood." He finished, looking back at the pale elf.

Her coloring scared him. It was too light and sickly looking. It made the wound look even worse as its bright red pieces of meat mixed with little drips of yellow fat puckered through his quick sewing job. "I'll give her another potion." He decided, uncorking the last of the bottles and moving to where her head lay.

Slowly, he poured the liquid into her, taking great care to not spill a drop. Beyond him, he could hear the loud voices and feet of those that had spent their night in the Flagon heading to their beds, oblivious to the emergency that was occurring only a short walk away.

A small moan from the Dunmer drew his attention back to the task at hand. "I need to get you someplace clean, lass, and with supplies" Lifting her without much trouble, he grabbed her armor and made for the door leading to the cistern. He knew where he was going to take her, it was someplace warm and safe, but it was also one of his secret spots in the ratway that he used when he needed to get away from everyone. If possible, he wanted to keep it that way. Listening at the door, he waited until there were a few minutes of silence before silently opening the door and hurrying to the hall that was usually used to get to the Flagon.

He could hear the soft murmur of Delvin, most likely trying to convince Vex to join him in his bed, as he made a sharp right and took the door leading into the ratway. Shutting it quietly, he readjusted the dead weight he was carrying and briskly navigated the dark tunnels without a second thought. It only took ten minutes to get to a small dead-end that held a single door.

"Alright, lass, we're almost there." He murmured as he pulled out a large iron key and clicked the lock open. Pushing his way inside, he kicked the door shut and locked it.

Brynjolf looked around his secret room, at the various items he had compiled over the years. There were large bookshelves filled with volumes he had stolen from all over Skyrim. A few chests lined the walls filled with various clothes that would serve for any disguise he could ever want. Next to those was another little table with a small box on it that contained the only things he had left from his life as a younger son in a noble family. Yet, none of these things mattered to him at that moment except for the large fur covered bed that sat in the far corner of the room.

Dodging around some large pots he had stolen years ago, he reached the bed and carefully laid the thief down. He checked her stitches to be sure they hadn't split in the journey and was satisfied with what he found. Moving towards a pile of furs and cloth, he tossed aside her bloody armor and grabbed a large bear pelt to cover her nearly naked torso.

Pulling up a dust-covered chair, he sat anxiously by her side. He didn't even notice that his armor was caked in blood, as were his hands and even his hair from his nervous fidgeting. Instead, he focused on his recruit and lightly smoothed her hair that had come irreversibly loose from the long braid she had originally bound it in. Checking her pulse, he was happy to find that it had a regular rhythm and contour, even if it was still weak.

He squeezed her hand and silently watched her shallow breathing until he felt his lids grow heavy and sleep overcome him.


	14. Waking Up

**Chapter 13**

The first thing she became consciously aware of was the pain that seared her side and throbbed through her body. It took her a long time to struggle beyond the intense feeling and become aware of anything else. Her body felt heavy and useless, resisting every command coming from her mind. It took all of her strength to open her puffy eyelids and bring the world around her into focus.

_Where am I?_ she thought as she stared at an unfamiliar ceiling. The stone was similar to the ratway but it had markings carved into it that she had never seen in the Guild. She moved her head slightly receiving a sharp, shooting pain from her head to her feet as a reward for her effort.

The Listener shut her eyes as she waited for the pain to subside. This was not the first time she had been injured, but none had seemed so severe compared to the wound she had just suffered. It wasn't even the wound itself, it was the two mile journey she had traveled to get somewhere safe and with potions.

Opening her eyes once more, she glanced about and took in two bookshelves and a few chests. Moving her fingers slightly, she felt warm calloused skin against her right hand. Rolling her eyes to the side she was shocked to see Brynjolf sleeping in a chair, his head laying on the edge of the bed. She attempted to roll her body towards him, but it hurt too much.

A small moan escaped her lips, causing the hand that held hers to squeeze tightly.

"Alor!" came Brynjolf's worried voice followed by a rustling movement and the loss of his hand on hers. "You're awake! How do you feel?

"Bad." She answered, her throat dry and scratchy.

She shut her eyes again and listened to him moving about the strange room. Suddenly, she felt cool air on her chest as whatever covered her was removed. Opening them quickly, she watched Brynjolf's face shift from worried to intense while he examined her body.

"Let's see how it looks." The Nord said, his fingers pressing lightly on her stomach.

"What are you doing?" she forced out, her heart beating wildly with the foreign touch.

"Don't worry, lass. I'm just making sure you aren't bleeding on the inside. That cut was deep. It's a wonder that it didn't hit your spleen or bowel." He said distractedly as he continued his exam.

She groaned slightly when his rough fingers reached her left side.

"I'm sorry." He said softly, his blue eyes leaving her skin and meeting her water-filled eyes. "I had to sew it up last night in a hurry. You had lost so much blood by the time I found you."

"Where did you find me?" she rasped, her mind foggy after a certain point in her retreat to Riften.

"You were inside the city gates walking towards the cistern entrance." He explained, moving towards a small table and grabbing up some herbs and a mortar and pestle. "What do you remember?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced her mind to work despite the continued throbs that seemed to demand her attention. She had left the Guild to go to Dawnstar and see the Night Mother. Her journey there was unremarkable besides a wolf or two. It had taken only two days of long, forced travel and minimal sleep, but it was worth the effort to have a few extra nights to spend at the Sanctuary. She had collapsed in her bed the moment she stepped through the door.

The next few days she had listened, as was her duty, and shared what she had learned. Cicero was happy to take a few contracts in Solitude, Babette opted for the names near the Sanctuary so she could have easy shelter during the day, while Nazir claimed all the contracts in the western half of Skyrim saying he would divide them with a new member to the Brotherhood. That left her with only the names near Riften. There were not many, but it would do if she was able to keep doing jobs with the Guild and stay distracted.

The rest of her stay was spent in talk about how her contract with the thieves was going. Babette was as disappointed as Alor was that Niruin had not yet returned from a job to start his course of poisons she invented specifically for him. She had begged them to let her just travel to Markarth and do the job, but both Nazir and Babette wanted to see how the poisoning worked. She submitted.

A few days later she had left them, her heart aching while her mind reassured her that she would only be gone for a month. Still, her travel south was slower than it had been north. She was only late two days from what she had originally planned when she finally reached the Riften road and saw him.

He had been a guard in the Imperial city when she last saw the man. He was a young, fat Nord then, but the years that had passed didn't change him enough that she wasn't able to recognize his bloated face. Anger had filled her when she remembered the way his face would turn red and drip with sweat whenever he paid her father for time with her. She couldn't let him live. Unfortunately, he had three, fully grown sons with him…

"Lass?" Brynjolf's voice cut into her thoughts. "Do you remember anything at all? Do you remember who stabbed you?"

Alor opened her mouth to speak but coughed violently instead, bright lights filling her eyes as pain coursed through her body.

"Take it easy, lass. Take it easy." The Nord said, rushing over and adjusting her pillow while stroking her hair. "Here, have a drink of water."

He held the wooden cup to her lips and let the warm water slowly pass her dry, cracked lips. The water felt good as it slipped down her stinging throat. Once she had drained the cup he refilled it with the bitter herbs he had just crushed, adding water to make it drinkable.

"Now these, lass." He said, lifting the cup to her lips.

She did as she was told, trusting him enough to not demand what was in it.

"You just rest, for now." Brynjolf said as her lids began to feel heavy. "I'll be here when you wake up."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

It seemed like only a moment when she opened her eyes again. Her pain had become less intense, but she felt groggy and sluggish. _It must have been that potion_, she thought as she slowly lifted herself up on her elbows.

"How are you feeling?" Brynjolf asked from the chair next to the bed. His eyes had bags under them and his hair was lank with oil. She could only imagine how long she slept and he had sat watch over her.

"Strange." She said, her tongue feeling thick and useless in her mouth.

"That's the glowing mushroom doing its job." He answered, rising from his seat to check her wound again. "It doesn't look infected, thank Talos." He said as his finger lightly touched the edge around the ragged incision.

"That's good." She replied as her body tensed.

"Aye." He replied, pulling the heavy fur back over her body. "I think you've made it past the most dangerous part. As long as you keep it clean and don't stain yourself it should heal."

"Where did you learn to do this?" she asked, lifting the cover and peeking at her torn up side. Looking at it she knew she would have a nasty scar to remind her of her little piece of revenge.

"I've picked things up over the years." He answered, dropping wearily onto the wooden chair. He rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose for a moment, sighing deeply after what she could only imagine was days of caring for her. "Now, I have to ask, how did you manage to get ripped apart like this?"

"I didn't block left." She replied with a small smile, earning a snort of disbelief from the Nord.

"That's pretty clear, lass, but why did you even need to be blocking someone? Who attacked you?"

Alor looked down, her fingers picking at the fur that covered her. She didn't know how to answer his question, not because she was concerned that it would give away her real reason for being at the Guild, but because this man who had been a stranger only a month prior had spent more time and effort to keep her alive than anyone she knew, Dark Brotherhood included. He had somehow over the course of small conversations and respectful understanding went from a begrudged necessity to a trusted companion. She wasn't sure if _friend_ fit the relationship, but as she found herself slowly telling him bits and pieces of her life that she kept even from her fellow assassins she couldn't help but feel a bond with him. She began to fear what his reaction would be to things she had done and would do again.

Giving him a quick glance, she returned to picking at his blanket. "My past is…complicated, Brynjolf." She said quietly. "Is this something you really need to know?"

"I would like to know." He said, his bloodshot eyes holding her gaze. "I think I deserve at least an explanation why I'll have to scrub your blood from my armor."

She thought for a moment, debating whether to answer truthfully or lie to the man that had saved her life. There was something in his eyes that made her want to be completely honest and trust him more than she had anyone. It was the same something that would occasionally shine through and remind her of the one person she had ever felt safe with and loved, her grandfather.

Summoning courage, she decided to go with her instincts and give away one of her many secrets. "My father was a drunk," she started, getting a nod from the Nord to go on. "Between his drinking and my mother's Skooma habit money was scarce. To get the money he needed for their addictions he sometimes let people…do things for money."

"What do you mean by _do things_, lass?" Brynjolf asked, his voice holding a hint of suspicion at what she was saying.

Alor swallowed a few times, trying to ignore how intensely he was staring at her. "Men would give him money and then he and my mother would leave me alone with them." She explained, the words coming out jerky and tense.

"Oh, Alor –" Brynjolf started, a pained look crossing his face with the realization of what she was saying.

"There was this guard," she continued, her face growing hot with the anger she felt over her childhood. "He was a Nord but he worked for the Empire. He would visit often and was always brutal. I saw him outside of Riften and…and I snapped." She finished violently, her fists clenching so hard that the skin turned a pale grey-white.

"What did you do?" he asked gently, laying his hand on one of her fists.

"I stalked him and his sons for a short time. I hoped that the sons would leave, but they didn't. I grew impatient and attacked. I got him and two of his children when the third got me."

"How did you get away after he stuck you?" he pressed, his desire to know everything that happened spilling into his words.

"I dodged him and cut the back of his leg. He fell and I slit his throat like the others." She said without emotion, not an ounce of remorse or regret for what she did. The potion that coursed through her system making the words fall from her tongue easily.

"You killed him even though he was innocent in all this?" Brynjolf asked, pulling his hand back as he watched her.

"He should have ran." She answered fiercly. "He didn't have to defend his father. None of them did."

A wave of pain ran through her as she finished speaking, not just because of her wound and its sensitivity to her small movements, but the emotional pain that she had locked away for years. Speaking about some of her childhood horrors opened up the large gates that held her anger relatively in check, letting it overflow into her blood.

"It's all right, lass." Brynjolf said, his eyes becoming cautious as he watched her struggle with her composure. "It's over, their dead, and that man can't hurt you ever again."

"It's not over. It's never over." She said darkly through a clenched jaw.

"I need you to calm down. You're still healing and I can't have you popping a stitch."

She did her best to quell the feelings that were swirling inside her while he quickly mixed another potion. It was a relief when he pushed the cup to her lips and the gritty liquid passed down her throat, sedating her almost immediately.


	15. Break

**Chapter 14**

Brynjolf watched Alor as her features relaxed and her breathing slowed. He felt hollow after her tale. One part of him was furious that a parent would ever do to their child what her father did to her, yet he also was horrified that her justice went beyond the person responsible to three innocent lives. He knew that he didn't live by the most accurate of moral compasses, but killing was not something he did lightly.

As she lay there in a peaceful, herb-induced sleep, he wondered how many others had abused her as a child? How many years had she endured before she was able to escape? The words she had screamed when he was trying to close her wound took on a whole new meaning as a piece of her complicated life puzzle fell into place.

He stared at her for a long time, amazed at how peaceful she looked as she slept. Despite her violent reaction and, at times, aggressive nature, Brynjolf found himself wanting to protect the elf. He had seen a few glimpses of something fragile in her that pulled on his heart the way a hurt puppy would. He couldn't blame her for lashing out, but he hoped that in time she would heal and lose that side of her personality.

Rubbing the long stubble that covered his face, he decided that he had a few hours before she would wake up again. Quickly, he scribbled a few pictures on a piece of paper that he hoped she would be able to interpret as him going to the guild for a short while should he be late in getting back. Placing it on the bear pelt that covered her, he checked her pulse once more before stepping out into the ratway, locking her inside.

_I've got to talk to Mercer,_ he thought, knowing that Maven Black-Briar had now been waiting for four days for her meeting with the little elf. Swiftly, he passed through the endless tunnels of the ratway until he reached the door to the Flagon. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the door and slipped in, shutting it silently behind him. Looking around, he was satisfied that no one saw where he had come from, preserving the rare luxury of privacy. Turning down the hall, he burst into the cistern and rushed to where Mercer was talking to Sapphire.

"Mercer," he said, interrupting the dark featured girl midsentence. "We have a problem."

"Brynjolf, where have you been?" the leader hissed. "Sapphire, we'll continue this later."

The woman nodded, and moved away, her eyes watching the leader and his second carefully. Brynjolf waited until she was out of earshot before explaining the situation. "I found Alor, but she's in a bad state."

"Oh? Bite off more than she could chew, did she?" the Breton said without much concern.

"You could say that." The Nord answered quickly.

"Well, when can she get to Maven? She's asked me twice, now, and you know that she isn't very keen on having to ask for anything more than once."

"I've patched her up as best I could, but she may not be able to do much for awhile."

"I'll be the judge of that." Mercer replied. "Where is she?"

"Resting." Brynjolf said quickly. "I'll bring her to you when she's awake. Just promise me you won't push her too hard, Mercer. She needs time to heal."

"The way I see it, Brynjolf, is that whatever she was doing to get hurt in the first place has not only cost me the profits she would have brought in but also the profits you would have brought in the last two days. If she can't handle coming back to work then maybe she needs to find a different way to earn coin." The Breton said dryly. "I don't have time to waste on a worthless thief."

"Mercer, she's not worthless and you know that. She's brought in more coin than any of the others have in a long time."

"And what do I have to show for it?" he yelled, grabbing the front of Brynjolf's dirty armor. "Two days of no profits and Maven Black-Briar breathing down my neck. Get her here and make sure she can work, or else, Brynjolf." He finished in a deadly hiss, letting go of the Nord's clothes with a disgusted snarl.

Brynjolf felt his blood warming at the callous nature of their leader, but who was he to argue? Mercer was in charge and in the end it meant that his word was law. Pulling his armor back into place, he walked away without a word.

Going into the Flagon, he stopped for a quick drink. "Ale, Vekel, and make it strong." He said, sinking into a chair.

"You look like hell, Bryn." Vex called from where she leaned, her hard eyes softening slightly at her former lover.

"That's about how I feel." He replied, taking the tankard from the bartender and throwing him a coin.

"Look," the blonde Nord started, moving closer to the guild second. "I'm sorry I got on your case the other night. I didn't think you would actually run off. I felt horrible when you didn't show up the next morning."

"You think I've been gone all this time because of you?" Brynjolf asked in disbelief.

"Well you did run off when I made fun of how…protective you get about the recruits." She said uncertainly.

"Vex, you are unbelievable." He said, brushing by her to speak with Tonilia, the fence.

"I need armor for the new lass." He said softly, his mind going through the various steps necessary to get the injured Dunmer ready to meet Maven Black-Briar.

"What's wrong with the armor she has?" the redguard woman snapped. "Seems to me she doesn't need our stuff."

"Hers has a large hole in the side." He said quietly, not wanting too many to hear.

"And how did she manage that?"

"From the sounds of it, got in a bit of a fight with four Nords with sharp swords. Now can I get the armor or not?"

"Fine." The tight-pursed fence replied. "But this is the only set she's getting."

"Thanks, Tonilia." he said gratefully as he picked up the bundles. Looking around, he knew that there was no way he would be able to get back into the ratways without someone noticing. _I'll have to take the long way_, he thought disappointedly.

Setting his jaw, he moved towards the main entrance into the ratway and quickly set about wandering the tunnels. The journey took nearly three hours, extended slightly by a skeever or two, but finally he reached a point in the tunnels where the connected to his more common route.

At long last, he reached the door to his secret place, unlocking it with a sigh.

"You're back." Came the voice of the Dunmer. She had moved to the edge of the bed and looked as if she were attempting to stand. The long cut on her left side looked puffy and inflamed, but thankfully free of obvious infection.

As he looked at her he noticed that she had roughly rebraided her long hair so that it was out of her face. It was in this moment that Brynjolf became very aware that although she still wore her boots and armored pants, she was in nothing but her underclothes on top. She had been this way since he had treated her wound, but in his panic he didn't even pay attention to her nearly exposed chest.

"Yes." He said, looking away out of respect of her privacy. "Did you see my note?"

"Yes, but it took me a while to realize that the little blob with a potion was you." She said through barred teeth as she pushed herself from the bed and stood weakly.

"I've got you some new armor to wear." He said, handing the bundle to her.

She snatched it up and slowly pulled out the thieves grey leather armor. Brynjolf made himself busy, going through his chests with the intention of changing into clean clothes. Finding a nice blue, quilted jacket to wear over a fine-spun white linen shirt with coordinating trousers, he quickly began to strip off his bloodstained armor and began dressing. He had just pulled on the pants and matching boots when he heard a small gasp of pain come from the other side of the room.

"You all right there, lass?" he asked, turning to find her struggling to get the armor on over her head.

Ignoring that he was only half dressed himself, he rushed over to her and gently helped her pull the leather on over her head. "Wait a moment, I want to wrap your stomach just in case it starts bleeding." He said, moving to get some clean cloth to use as bandages.

Turning back to the Dunmer, he stopped short at the fierce look on her face. Her eyes were burning out from under a glassy pool of water while her jaw was clenched so tightly he was surprised it didn't crack her teeth. The small muscles around her mouth even twitched as she crushed her lips into a thin, hard line.

"What's the matter?" he asked, worrying that she was in some sort of horrible pain.

"Weak," she spat. "I'm weak. Weak and stupid and useless." She continued, her body beginning to shake violently. "Weak and useless and stupid and worthless and WEAK." She shouted, a few hot tears moving down her face.

Brynjolf watched her a moment in shock. Her eyes were angry and wild and her hands kept clenching and loosening, as if they were looking for something squeeze to death. She continued to mumble curses at herself, rocking slightly as her body shook.

"Alor, look at me." He said, grabbing her shoulders lightly. "Look at me."

She looked up at him, her eyes a swirl of confused and dark emotions. It sent a wave a fear through him, the look reminding him of the murder in a mother bear's eyes after finding its cub dead mixed with some of the lunatics' eyes that he had encountered deeper into the ratway. His gut began screaming for him to run away from the elf, his heart racing and adrenaline shooting through him. Yet, he remained where he was and forced her deadly eyes to lock onto his own.

"Look at me and listen." He said sharply. "You are not worthless or stupid. You are most certainly not weak. I know many men that would die from a wound like that, yet you found the strength not only to walk back to Riften but survive. Now stop this foolishness."

She continued to look at him, her eyes growing more and more confused. "Are you listening to me, lass?" he said again. "You are not weak. Snap out of it."

He felt her body shudder under his grip for a moment before a long, deep wail escaped the little elf's lips. His protective instincts powered him as she let her head fall onto his bare chest while she cried. He let his arms wrap around her shoulder and head, stroking her hair gently while making small comforting noises.

He hadn't held anyone this way since before coming to Guild. The feeling of her leaning on him for support brought up memories of his little sister who was far too kind and sensitive for the harsh Skyrim world. Often, she would run to him seeking comfort knowing that their parents would think a soft word and tight embrace as coddling.

He didn't know what it was about the small Dunmer woman, but there was something about her that had the power to conjure up a life he had all but forgotten, both the good memories and the bad. In the short time he knew her he had grown to actually enjoy her company in a way that was different from any of the other thieves. She treated him like an equal, completely unafraid to say things the others would likely keep to themselves. She also intrigued him with mentions of her travels and hints at things she had seen and done. Once he got over his initial apprehension and started to see some of the similarities in their lives, he had opened himself up to her, speaking of things from his own life that he had hidden away for years.

Now, as years of ugly experiences and emotions poured out of her, he naturally took up the role of the comforter. He slowly sat down on the bed next to her, letting her body fall into him without complaint. He felt one of her hands grip at his leg as she choked out sob after sob.

Eventually her choppy breathes calmed and her tears slowed to a stop. He continued to hold her as her body grew limp with fatigue, the room growing silent. After a few minutes, she pulled away from him, her face blotchy and pale.

"Let's get your wound wrapped." Brynjolf said gently, moving from the bed and grabbing the linen wrappings he had discarded in her moment of need.

Alor looked away from him as he carefully spun the clothe around her small abdomen, her face like empty stone. "There," he said, admiring his handy work as he tied off the cloth and pulled down her armor carefully. "That should hold."

"So what now?" she asked him, her voice devoid of emotion and eyes stuck to the floor.

"We go back to the Guild," Brynjolf started as he poured some water on his hair and quickly brought a comb through it. "Then you have a meeting with Maven Black-Briar."

"I do?" she asked towards the ground.

"Aye, you do. She called on you four days ago by name. I wish you could have more time to heal, lass, but Maven doesn't like to be kept waiting." He answered, turning his back to her as he pulled on the rest of his clothes.

He could feel her eyes on him once he was no longer able to look at her, the intensity of the gaze making the room feel small and tense. Turning back, she quickly looked away, color rising onto the little skin he could see of her face and neck. "I want my mask." She said quietly.

"To meet Maven?" he asked, a little surprised by her request.

"I want it," she said again, her words shaking a little. "I need it. I-I just need my mask."

"Alright, give me a second and I'll get it." He replied moving to the pile of her torn leather armor. It took a moment to untangle the mask from the mess of straps, hooks, and blades, but he managed it and brought the black mask and shallow hood to her.

She snuck a quick glance at him before she grabbed the worn leather from his hands. Carefully, she put the armor on, throwing the hood to her new guild armor over the tight fitting black one. Once she had everything in place, she looked at Brynjolf from under the deeper guild hood, her eyes barely visible due to the shadows and her mask.

"May I have my knives, too?"

Brynjolf nodded and quickly removed the belt that held her knives from her ruined armor. He handed them to her and watched as she clasped it around her waist. As she looked herself over, he couldn't help but notice that three of the small blades were covered in dried blood. He felt a wave of cold run through him at the thought of what those blades had recently done.

"Let's go." Alor said, her eyes growing hard as she gingerly walked towards the door.

"Let me help you, lass." Brynjolf said, moving to her side.

"I can do it!" she exclaimed, trying to move away from him quickly and becoming dizzy in the process.

"You're still injured." Brynjolf scolded, grabbing her arm despite her protests. "I'm going to help you at least until we reach the Guild."

She silently accepted his help as he navigated their way up the damp stone tunnels to the door behind the Flagon.

"Give me a moment here, lass." He whispered, pressing his ear to the door. The tavern was quiet. "Alright, let's get through this quickly."

Silently, he opened the door and slipped through, letting the elf walk through on her own. Replacing the door, he ushered her into the cistern where more than half the beds were filled with sleeping thieves. _How late is it?_ He thought, moving towards the cemetery exit.

"We'll go to Mercer's house first." He whispered as they climbed the steps. "He wanted to see you immediately."

Reaching the top, he held out his arm to guide her the last few steps. The sky was starting to burn pink with dawn, marking the early hour. _By Talos, at this rate I'll be lucky if Mercer doesn't kill me let alone Maven_, he thought as her realized they were entering the fifth day since the powerful woman had summoned Alor. As worried as he was about her injury, he was quickly becoming more anxious about his _own_ welfare along with hers if Maven were to be in a foul mood.

Turning down the back road that lined the mansions of the wealthy. "Wait here." He commanded, leaving the silent Dunmer by an old metal gate while he sauntered towards the heavily armed thug guarding the door.

"I need to speak with Mercer, immediately." Brynjolf said, getting a curt nod from the man who turned unlocked the door and went to find his employer.

Brynjolf waited impatiently, the sharp dawn air waking up his body and his mind. _Damned worse time for the lass to get hurt_, he thought again as various scenes of his death at the hand of the Dark Brotherhood played out in his head. _Hopefully Maven is feeling generous_.

"This had better be good, Brynjolf." Came Mercer's voice from the balcony above.

"I brought our little elf, Mercer. The potion took longer to wear off then I expected." He lied easily.

"Good, I want to have a look at her before she goes and embarrasses us in front of Maven." Mercer said, retreating into the house only to reappear minutes later in his courtyard.

"Come here, lass." Brynjolf motioned, the elf slowly dragging herself out of the shadows.

"You weren't lying when you said she wasn't well. What did you do to yourself?" Mercer spat at her.

"Had an accident." She answered softly, shifting slightly behind the Nord.

"Can you work? I don't want to send you to our most important customer if you can't do your job."

"I can work." She replied.

"Good. No more of these _accidents_." He finished, the threat dripping from his words. "Otherwise you might find your next recovery greatly hindered. Now no more wasting my time or gold!"

The pair watched him go back to his house before taking their leave. Brynjolf could feel Alor shiver slightly from behind him. "Alright there lass?" he asked as they moved towards the inn.

"Fine."

"Good." He said distractedly. "Maven usually is at the Bee and Barb in the morning, so we'll go there next. Now, when you meet Maven just remember that she's not one you talk back to. Listen to what she has to say and then do it. No questions, no arguing."

"Am I in trouble?" Alor asked, her body swaying slightly as they moved.

"No. If you were she would be calling on the Dark Brotherhood. This is just business. Will you be able to manage?" He asked, grabbing her arm to support her.

"I can handle it." She said with a snort.

"See that you do, lass. I'm already in enough trouble without adding Maven to the list." He finished as they reached the tavern doors.

"Don't worry." She answered, her voice cracking a little as she lightly touched her side.

"Is it bleeding?" he asked, his voice becoming softer with his concern.

"No."

"Watch yourself in there. I'll be down here in my shop if you need anything."

The elf nodded and gave him a quick look before opening the door to the inn and entering the lion's den.


	16. The Next Job

**Chapter 15**

Her side was stabbing, her head was aching, her heart was empty, and her soul was troubled. All in all, the Listener felt dreadful as she stepped into the quiet inn. She was confused and embarrassed and completely worn out. Yet, she was glad when Brynjolf had said she had a job to do. She couldn't stand the thought of being alone with the tall, muscular Nord for another minute, not after what she did.

_Why did I cry?_ She thought angrily as looked around the inn. It was empty but for the argonian barkeep. "Maven?" she asked, getting a darting look to the stairs by the still half-asleep woman.

Moving to the stairs she felt the familiar pulse of self-loathing fill her. The entire period from the attack to when she woke up with a small picture-note from Brynjolf was a blur to her. She had brief glimpses of their conversation prior to waking, but nothing more. She had laid there for a long time trying to piece together what happened.

_I was hit, I killed the son, I made it to Riften somehow, Brynjolf helped me, I woke up, I slept, and I woke up again_, she had summarized mentally, unable to remember much more. Then, she studied the strange line drawings Brynjolf had left until she realized he was trying to tell her that he had gone somewhere and would be back. It had made her smile, a warm feeling filling some cold recess inside her that had been empty for years.

Slowly, she tried to move from the bed, finding it much too painful to get too far. Brynjolf had returned and had to help her even dress. It was then that she had began to panic.

Her father's voice started playing through her head, words of other men from her childhood taunting her. She was vulnerable and in physical pain because she had messed up a kill. It made her self-hatred reach an all-time high as she started spouting off the words she had heard as a child. She felt the chaos roar inside her as she felt her small control on her life slipping from her. Her hands began to itch to find something to hurt or someone to kill to bring some semblance of order back to her life. She needed to feel the power over someone else to drive the voices away. She needed their screaming and begging for mercy followed by their complete submission to her before she stole their life to bring her back to herself.

Within all theses confused thoughts and primal urges, a voice cut through her. It spoke her name and refuted everything her father's voice was saying. Slowly, she had focused on Brynjolf and the look he was giving her. It was kind and oddly caring. No one had looked at her like that since her grandfather's death. No one. Not the Jarls when they thanked her for saving their pathetic cities, not the Greybeards for the information she gave them, not even the Brotherhood who viewed her with respect and a little fear. No one in years had given her a look that said _I care_ and something snapped.

She shuddered at how good and horrible it felt all at once to let things out. _It won't happen again_, she promised herself as she slowly drug herself up the stairs and walked towards what could only be Maven Black-Briar.

"Maven?" The Listener asked softly, moving into the small alcove the dark-haired, pursed lipped woman sat.

"So," she started with a noble drawl, "You're the one. My, you don't look so impressive." She said, raising an eyebrow while stirring a cup of tea.

"Just tell me the job." The assassin replied heavily, her side shooting pain through her so frequently that the little white stars in front of her eyes barely had time to clear before a new set emerged.

"It's about time that Brynjolf found someone with any sort of sense." The woman said, giving the masked elf an appraising look. "I was beginning to think that he was running some sort of beggars guild down there."

Alor remained silent, deciding that the woman would tell her what she wanted whether she responded or not. That's how it often worked in the Brotherhood, anyways.

"A silent one, are we?" the woman continued. "I'm liking you better already."

Alor watched her as she delicately took a sip of her morning tea, dabbing the sides of her painted lips with a little cloth. "This is an important job." She started again, her tone becoming more commanding and direct. "I have a competitor called Honey Brew Meadery that I want out of business. I also want to know how they got the meadery up and running so quickly. Head to the Bannered Mare in Whiterun. Look for Mallus Maccius. He'll fill you in on all the details." Maven finished, turning away from her and focusing on her breakfast.

The Listener took her cue and walked away as erect as she could. Once out of the woman's sight, she felt her body double over in pain. Her side felt slightly wet under her armor, too, making everything worse. She hugged the wall as she left the inn, collapsing on the same bench she had used to watch Brand-Shei get arrested nearly a month and half prior.

She closed her eyes and willed the pain to subside to little avail. Then, she decided to focus on something else until the pain was gone enough that she could continue the short walk to the ratway. Listening, she picked up on several petty conversations. One involved the outrageous prices of meat recently while another focused on some brat's upcoming birthday party. None of it could capture her interest until she heard two fisherman arguing on their way to the docks.

"Are you still going on about _seeing_ the Dragonborn." The larger of the two men said.

"I swear it was her! I kept hearing these strange noises and out of nowhere POP! She appeared not twenty feet from me. Then she yelled again, so loud my ears are still ringing" the smaller man replied as they passed her bench, waving his arms about in his enthusiasm.

"Yeah, yeah, and then she disappeared again on a blast of wind." The older man's voice said before his was lost in the general noise of the market.

_That solves the mystery of how I got back to Riften_, she thought as another wave of pain and throbbing pulse ripped through her side. Squeezing her eyes shut she was unable to concentrate on anything beyond the stabbing sparks that traveled from her side to her toes and into her head. White spots filled her vision when she dared open her eyes, tears threatening to leak out from the scarlet orbs.

Another wave of pain swept through her, the pulses of her heart pushing blood through her stitches. She felt like she was going to be sick, gripping the bench beneath her as dizziness and nausea filled her. Just as the blackness started to surround her sight she heard Brynjolf's voice rising over the crowd of shoppers, calling for their attention.

"Lads and lasses! Do I have a treat for you!" his voice rang out, Alor focusing on the words so as to not pass out in the middle of the street.

"Today only, I can offer you the bit of luck you've been needing. Found in a Dwemer ruin, these potions are guaranteed to grant you days of endless luck!"

His voice was strong and confident, sounding louder than the rushing sound that seemed be trying to fill her ears. "Five-hundred gold a bottle! There was only five ever found, don't miss out on this opportunity."

Feeling the pain dull as her tired nerves became overworked, she slowly opened her eyes. From where she sat, she could see the tall, fiery Nord collecting large bags of gold with gusto. Even from the distance she could make out his large grin. She felt a small trace of a smile form on her lips as she watched him work, a strange emotion rising in her.

As the crowd formed around him, she weakly pulled herself up from where she had spent the better part of two hours and shuffled her way to the cemetery. It was difficult, but she was determined to do it. She needed to do it to begin feeling normal again. She wasn't sure why, but she both loathed and desired more help from the Nord. _There is something about him that is very –_

"Alor! What are you doing sitting outside? You should be resting right now!" Brynjolf said, suddenly appearing in the small courtyard outside of the cemetery and interrupting her thoughts.

"Nothing." She said quickly, her body tensing which caused her pain to increase from the constant throb to more sharp and shooting.

"Come on, let's get you inside." He said, grabbing her elbow and raising her to her feet. At first, Alor wanted to struggle, move down the stone steps on her own, but standing alone made her head spin dangerously. She let her body lean into his thick frame, his hand tightening its hold.

"I'm sorry you had to go out today, lass. Mercer and Maven aren't know as being understanding individuals. How is your side doing?"

"Fine." She said weekly, her feet staggering slightly at Brynjolf's quick pace.

"Don't lie to me, Alor. I can see you are not fine." He said sternly as they moved past Rune and Sapphire who were chatting easily about work. "Why don't you lot clear out for a while?" the Nord called to them as he carefully lowered the Dunmer onto her bed.

The two thieves stared at Alor and the Nord for a moment before doing what their second asked. Alor let herself lay gingerly on the hard mattress, watching Brynjolf's face turn from stern to worried in a matter of seconds.

"Let me see it, lass." He said softly, his voice covering the concerned look that peeped through his eyes.

"I can take care of myself, Brynjolf." She said, her embarrassment still fresh from earlier.

"Quiet. I don't want to hear it." He said sternly, lifting her armor up despite her protests. "_Talos_." He cursed under his breath as he looked over her wound.

"What is it?" she asked, her head too heavy to move to see it.

"You've right bled through." He muttered, pulling out a knife and cutting away the wet linen. "I'll clean it up and then you are going to drink another potion. That should help with some of the pain and speed up the healing."

"No." she replied, trying to roll away from him.

"Alor, I don't know what's going through that mind of yours, but you are going to sit still and let me do this one way or another."

She thought about struggling, but there was something in his crisp, blue eyes that removed that thought almost immediately. "Fine."

"Besides, you'll feel a lot better after this."

"Good, I need to leave for Whiterun tomorrow." She said through a grimace as the water he was using to clean the injury stung the raw flesh.

"No." Brynjolf said sternly. "You barely could handle going about Riften today."

"If Maven couldn't wait for me to come speak to her I doubt she'll be happy if I don't do what she wants immediately, Brynjolf."

"She wants you to go to Whiterun?" he asked, placing something cool and moist on her burning skin and carefully pulling down the leather armor over it. "Then we'll have to go."

"We?" she asked before he forced a potion bottle to her mouth.

"Yes, we. I'm not letting you go there alone. I'll just have to do some small jobs while we're there to keep Mercer off my back."

The thought him wanting to travel with her both puzzled and pleased her. "Are there any places with anything worthwhile in Whiterun? I mean beyond small stuff?"

"Not really. I stole the only real thing of value from there nearly a year ago. But I'll make due."

"I know of something." She said suddenly, the idea of a coming so quickly that it left her lips before she even thought about it.

"What's that?"

"I just know that there's one of those old dragon claw keys in some Thane's house there. It's suppose to be covered in diamonds." She said slowly, her mind moving to one of her many houses that she didn't live in but had used to bury away all the left over artifacts from her life as the Dragonborn. The Whiterun house didn't have much in it, but that piece alone was worth a lot of gold.

"Where did you hear that?" Brynjolf asked, his eyes sparkling at the prospect.

She shrugged as best as her body would let her. "Don't know."

"That should please Mercer well enough." The Nord mused for a moment. "Rest, lass. I'll go talk to him and get everything ready to leave in the morning."

She gave a small nod and closed her eyes, only to peek them open to watch him walk away. Closing them tightly again, she began to feel the effects of the potion working on her. Just as sleep was about to take her, she thought of the look in Brynjolf's eyes and smiled.


	17. Entering Whiterun

**Chapter 16**

Brynjolf had arranged that they travel via coach to Whiterun to allow the little elf more time to heal. It was a hard sell for Mercer and even harder for Alor. The former was won over with the prospect of a priceless artifact, agreeing to allow Brynjolf to leave his normal responsibilities and travel with the elf with only a few spiteful remarks. Alor was not happy with having to rely on someone else for travel. In fact it seemed difficult for her on several occasions to even rely on him. She eventually sullenly agreed in the logic of all the plans.

Brynjolf was apprehensive still about the Honningbrew job, wishing Maven would have given it to anyone else, but seeing as how she instructed the elf to go his hands were tied. Beyond her physical condition, he was also worried about her emotional status. In the few hours before they left she had gone from pleasant to silent to angry and back to pleasant. He wanted to blame the pain from her wound for the mood swings, but experience told him that there was more to it.

"Just get the lass to Whiterun, help her with the job, get some loot, and get home." He told himself for what seemed the hundredth time.

"I still don't see why _you_ need to go." Vex called from across the cistern, interrupting his mumblings.

"Because Alor has a nine inch hole in her side and Maven is insisting." Brynjolf answered curtly.

"I think there's more to it than that, Bryn. I know you." She said, her lip curling slightly. "You may not think I do, but believe me, I know you better than yourself. You are spending more time and energy on her than just some normal recruit."

"I have to agree." Delvin chipped in.

"What is your problem with it, Delvin?" he asked angrily.

The Breton looked around quickly, his eyes widening in nervousness before he replied. "You know how I feel about that one. I don't think it's good that you're going with her somewhere alone."

"Not this again." He sighed, pulling on his hair. "She is not going to stab me!"

"Seems she has no problem using those knives of hers." Delvin continued quickly with Vex nodding him on. "And before all this is through she's going to be stabbin' someone. I know it in my gut, Brynjolf, and you're the most likely candidate with how much she seems to talk to you."

"You both are getting on my last nerve." Brynjolf answered, grabbing the pack of potions he was going to be taking. "I would think that you would want the thief that single handedly has made us more coin than both of you combined this past month to not muck up a job set to her by Maven. Or is this just jealously I'm hearing."

"What's there to be jealous of? She's barely the size of a _real_ woman." Vex said bitterly.

"Enough!" the Nord repeated, eyeing the guild thirds darkly. "She is an asset to this organization. She has proven herself time and again. It's time for both of you to wake up and go to work or start thinking about what Mercer will be saying if that lass isn't covering both your arses with the coin she's bringing in."

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Brynjolf." Delvin said, shaking his head.

"Goodbye." The Nord snapped, walking away from his associates without a second glance. Repositioning the bag, he quickly moved to the stable outside of the Riften where the little elf was already in the carriage, waiting.

"Here, lass, I want you take a potion before we start. We need you as healed as much as possible before we get there."

"These things get toxic if you take too many too fast." She commented as he handed her a large, pink bottle.

"It'll be fine." The Nord replied, motioning her to drink as the carriage lurched forward. He watched her while she drank noticing that she had some nice features when her face was turned into a scowl or perpetual frown. In fact, as she smiled at him upon completing the potion, he decided that she was actually fairly pretty.

"You should do that more often." He said, watching how her red eyes shine with curiosity.

"Do what?"

"Smile." He said, giving her a large grin.

"I do smile!" she replied her mouth automatically turning up in the corners with the thought.

"Aye, but not enough." Brynjolf insisted.

"I smile when there's something to smile about." She replied stubbornly.

"Fine, lass, have it your way." He laughed, turning slightly in his seat but watching her from the corner of his eye. Her face seemed to come to life as some inward thought put a small smile on her lips.

_She is something_, he thought as turned her attention on the landscape they were passing. The trees were thick by Riften but soon they began to thin out and as they passed the one of Skyrim's large mountain ranges. Brynjolf realized he had never really stopped to notice the scenery on his many journeys around Skyrim. His mind had always been focused on some job or guild problems. The green colors of late spring mixed with the mountain flowers made the land look alive and beautiful, unlike its brown and white winter façade.

"Here we are!" the coachman called, pointing to the approaching stone walls of Whiterun as evening fell. "Want to be dropped at the stables?"

"Aye." Brynjolf called, gathering the two bags he had packed. One had potions while the other his guild armor and more bags for whatever loot he found in the Thane's house. Reaching for some gold, he waited for the driver to stop and dropped it in his out stretched hand. "Thanks."

"Pleasure." The man replied, waiting patiently for Brynjolf and the elf to get all their things and move towards the city before calling for new passengers.

"I really hate Whiterun." Alor muttered, putting her mask in place as they walked into the gates like normal travelers, rather than sneaking like thieves.

"Why's that?" Brynjolf asked, navigating them to the Bannered Mare.

"I just do." She replied quickly.

The Nord found himself more curious by the response, but decided not to push for information. Alor had been telling him a lot lately of her own free will. _She'll tell me more when she wants to, _he thought as they reached the inn. "Let's get our rooms and then we'll talk about the next step." He said softly to the elf as they approached the innkeeper.

"How can I help you, sir?" the said kindly, her eyes traveling down Brynjolf taking in his fine clothes and large frame.

"I need a room for myself and my guard." He replied, motioning to Alor who was standing slightly behind him in her armor and mask, mace at her side.

"I see." The innkeeper smiled. "Unfortunately I only have one room available at the moment. But I can make up an area in the basement for your guard if it pleases you, sir."

Brynjolf glanced back at his partner and decided he most definitely did not want her sleeping in the basement. "No, I would prefer to have her nearby. We'll take the one room."

"As you wish. Let me show you to your room." The innkeeper replied as she quickly stood and moved up a staircase and opened a door to a large room that had an opening to overlook the main floor.

"This will do." Brynjolf said, flipping the woman a coin as a signal for her to leave. She gave a stiff bow out of respect for what she thought was a rich noblemen and left, shutting the doors behind her.

"I'll sleep on the floor, lass. You need the bed." Brynjolf said as soon as he was sure the innkeeper wasn't listening at the door. "But first, we need to find this Mallus Maccius so you can speak with him."

"Do you know who he is?" Alor asked, sinking on to the bed and yawning.

"He's done a job or two for Maven before. I might be able to recognize him." The Nord replied. "Is your side doing alright?"

"It feels a lot better, actually, after that last potion. I'm just tired." She said shutting her eyes briefly.

"I wasn't able to completely remove the sedatives in it." He nodded, giving her his hand to help her up. Her hand looked small inside his own large paws, but the quality of the skin was the same; Rough, worn, and use to doing hard work. "Let's go get a pint and a table and see if we can find your man." He said with a smile, giving her hand a slight squeeze before letting it go.

"Alright." She said with a smile, following him down the stairs and back into the tavern area of the inn. Fulfilling the roles Brynjolf had made up, Alor silently went and grabbed him a drink and water for herself while he took a table in the shadows that commanded a view of the entire room. At first, he didn't see anyone that appeared to be the man they were looking for until his third glance about the room.

"That's him, lass. The man over in the corner there." He said nodding towards a dark haired man that was sitting to a quiet meal.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive." He replied.

"Then I'll be back." She said, slipping out of her seat with more ease than he had seen in days. _The potions must be working_, he thought happily as he watched her quietly approach the man, startling him when she spoke.

The conversation only took a few minutes before Alor made her way back to the table. "So, what' the plan?" Brynjolf asked, his excitement making his face into a large smile.

"The Whiterun captain of the guard is doing a private tasting of some mead and I'm suppose to poison it on the pretense of getting rid of an infestation problem the meadery is having." She replied, sliding back into her seat.

"That doesn't sound too hard." He replied.

"I also have to get rid of the pests." She answered.

"That's a bit more worrisome. Do you think you're up to it? I can find a way to go in there with you." he said tugging on his neatly combed hair.

"I can handle a few skeevers." She answered curtly.

"Don't strain yourself, lass. You may be feeing better but that doesn't mean you're healed." Brynjolf warned as she began to yawn again. "But I think it's time we call it a night."

Alor nodded as he rose from his seat and they made their way to the room. Once inside, they changed and he quickly set about getting her a potion, which she reluctantly took, and throwing a few furs from the bed on the floor. Settling in, he was happy to see that the elf was already fast asleep due to the heavily sedated health solution. _She needs it_, he thought, knowing that skeevers were apt to smell the blood from her cut and come flocking.

He laid there a long time trying to come up with ways to convince her to let him come along to the meadery, but none of his reasons seemed good enough to get through to the headstrong woman. It wasn't until the little elf began to fidget slightly in his sleep that he stopped the useless thoughts, focusing on her.

"No." she mumbled, her leg twitching slightly.

_She must be having another nightmare, _he thought as she mumbled incoherently. Suddenly, she began thrashing violent, making frightened noises that made his hair stand on end.

"Alor!" he said loudly, moving towards the bed and holding her in place. "Alor, wake up! You're dreaming!"

She continued to fight against his hold, her body soaked in a cold sweat. _She's going to rip her stitches out if she keeps this up!_ He exclaimed while he kept saying her name aloud and tapping her face.

With a large gasp, her eyes flung open, fear and confusion filling them. "It's okay, lass!" Brynjolf said while she panted for air, looking frantically around. "You were dreaming."

"The dragons –" she started, her wide eyes slowly focusing on his face.

"Don't worry, there aren't any dragons here." Brynjolf said, rubbing her arms in what he hoped was a comforting fashion. She gulped a few more breathes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Don't worry, you're in Whiterun, in an inn. You're safe."

For a moment, it looked like she was about to speak, but everytime she opened her mouth she immediately shut it, squeezing her eyes shut as if to shut out some nasty sight. "There's no dragons." She muttered a few times, to which Brynjolf softly confirmed that there wasn't, that the dragons seemed to have disappeared along with the Dragonborn. He watched her as her hands began to clench and her arms shake her whole face darkening dangerously while fear and anger swirled behind her eyes.

"It's alright, lass." He said quietly, keeping his hands on her as he watched the look slowly pass. Soon, her features calmed, the frightened expression still remaining to a degree.

"Brynjolf," she said meekly, her eyes flashing a momentary terrified look. "Will you stay by me?"

"Of course, lass." He answered. Thinking she meant on the floor, he began to move his blankets closer to the bed.

"No, up here." She replied, her cheeks flushed.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his own heart beginning to race.

"I don't want to be alone anymore." She whispered, her voice containing none of its normal confidence or power.

"Alright." He answered, "Do you want me to put my shirt back on?"

"I don't care." She replied, moving to the far side of the bed.

Brynjolf hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. Deciding that being shirtless wasn't an issue, he crawled into the bed after, his much bigger frame taking up a large portion of it. Turning to his side, he watched her as she stared up at the ceiling, her breathes evening out until she fell back asleep.

With her body calmed and the potion doing its job, Brynjolf finally allowed himself to relax. It was still difficult to do as he was acutely aware of her warmth next to him. One part of him wanted to hold her as she slept, but he doubted that she would be all right with that. _Just go to sleep, Bryn_, he told himself, clamping his eyes shut. It was difficult, but at long last he managed to feel loose and soon sleep claimed him.


	18. A Taste of the Darkness

**AN: This chapter is graphic/violent. Read on at your own risk **

**Chapter 17**

The smell of leather and spice enveloped her as she slowly let her eyes drift open. The first thing she noticed was how warm she was. Warm enough that she wanted to close her eyes and let sleep take her for a few more hours. Shifting her body, though, she found that she wasn't able to move freely. A slight panic filled her until she noticed the large, well-worn hand draped over her. Memories of the night before came to her, easing the tight feeling that had suddenly appeared in her chest. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched Brynjolf breathing deeply, his face rough with the nightly growth of hair.

She felt a sudden rush of happiness mixed with some apprehension at the content look on the man's face. It was the first time in years she had been held by a man. In fact, Brynjolf was the first man in years that had even been able to touch her without getting a blade through the neck. It made her nervous that he was so close to her, yet he had never done anything to hurt her or take advantage of her before. Even when she had been unconscious she couldn't see any hint of him having done _anything_.

_He's good, like grandfather_, she thought to herself with a smile. Like her mother's father, Brynjolf protected her, took care of her, comforted her, and stood by her. He had no reason to do this, but he did. His eyes spoke his kindness and his character. She was safe.

After laying still for a short time, Alor carefully slipped out of the bed so as not to wake the slumbering Nord. Quietly, she dressed and made her way out of the room and inn. _Let's make this quick,_ she thought as she crept in dawn's shadows towards the Battle-Born estate. Being in Whiterun meant a contract to fulfill, but traveling with Brynjolf, as happy as it made her, was an inconvenience to her duties. _As long as I do this before he wakes he will never know_, she thought with a small grin as she expertly picked the lock and slipped into the large, wooden home.

She had been here before, of course, when she first had traveled to Whiterun. At that time, she was little more than a poor elf, wearing a scarf to hide her face. But once word spread that she was the Dragonborn all of the rich and desperate seemed to leech on to her for their petty needs. She despised them for it and was almost happy to see one of the wealthy family's names appear on her list of three victims.

_Lars Battle-Born_, she mused as she crept through the house. He had been a child, perhaps twelve, when she had come to Whiterun trailed by the dragon, Mirmulnir. He had been a crying, weak, pampered child that reminded her of all the spoiled children of the Imperial City that constantly threw rocks and insults at her. Reaching the room she remembered to be the young Battle-Born heir's, she marveled at how young he still looked despite it being five or six years since Odahviing the dragon pledged his allegiance to the Listener on Dragonreach's balcony.

_Yet, he is old enough to have a scorned lover_, she mused as he breathed what would be his last breaths. Pulling out a knife, she planned on carrying out the girl's precise orders. She wanted him to die a long, horrible death. It was the kind of death the Listener enjoyed most, giving her the most pleasure, satisfaction, and sense of power after their completion. She was the cat and the boy was nothing more than a cornered mouse.

Slowly she took some clothing laying scattered in the room and tied his outstretched arm and both of his legs to his bed posts. She then took what appeared to be some of the boy's underclothing and rolled it into a ball in her hand. With blinding speed, she let her hand descend on his mouth, covering the scream he released while not covering his nose and suffocating him.

"This is going to hurt." The Listener said with a sick enthusiasm as she slowly pushed her knife into his stomach, just deep enough that the white-yellow droplets of baby-fat became exposed to the cool air. She smiled as he let out another shout, only to have it drown in her hand. His eyes were wide with panic and his body struggled to find a way to escape, but with his arm and legs securely bound to the bed he was hers.

The assassin took her time with him, feeling no urgency in extracting the kill after Brynjolf had comforted her last night. Dreams of the dragons often made her need to kill much stronger, but the Nord had a calming affect. Instead, she was able to flay the skin off the, avoiding major arteries so the bleeding was minimal.

"So much fat." She commented to the large area of yellow that covered most of his abdomen and chest. The boy merely gagged and continued crying, his face red with the agony he was feeling. His eyes begged her to stop, begged her to show mercy, but that was not what she was paid to do. That was not what she wanted to do. Instead, she took her knife and cut the leg of his pants, exposing his most sensitive parts. She pressed the side of her cool blade against his skin, watching as it shivered and shrunk in the cold. The little Nord began his attempts at screaming in earnest as he realized what would come next. The Listener smiled.

"I hope you appreciate how this feels, Lars." She commented as she slowly sliced vertically through his tender skin. "I can imagine it is unlike any other feeling in the world."

The boy shook and gagged, his eyes bulging with each little slice of her knife. "It is a good thing you learned early on that this _thing_ is nothing but pain." She spat as she quickly pulled her knife up to his pelvis, the blade cutting through some of the cartilage of the pubic bone.

He howled into her hand, the noise dying before it could ever be heard outside of the room. She watched his face, his eyes screaming his fear, hatred, and pleas to her, acknowledging she had the power to make it all stop. _It's growing late,_ she thought with a quick glance out the window. The sky was a soft pink and soon Whiterun would be a multitude of noises and smells as the citizens went about their day. _Time to finish this_.

Taking her knife up again, she decided to make sure that he was dead before any of the servants came checking on him. That meant a large artery would need to cut. _The femorals_, she thought, dragging the tip of the blade towards his groin. With a quick thrust she struck the vessel, a large gush of blood erupting on his milky white skin. She did the same on the opposite side, watching as the boy's bed soon became black with the liquid.

Wiping her blade on his leg, she replaced it in the small strap at across her chest and shoved the cloth a little deeper into the boy's mouth. He tried, weakly, to scream one more time before she saw his eyes grow understanding and accepting of his situation. He was at death's door.

She waited until his eyes shut, knowing that, although still alive, he would never wake again. Feeling content and full, she crept from the house and made her way back to the inn.


	19. Just Another Day in Whiterun

**AN: This is to make up for the last chapter **

**Chapter 18**

Brynjolf woke to a cold, empty bed. He had slept longer than he meant too after his mind had kept him awake the night before. Rising up slowly, he found Alor already awake, sitting at a small table laboring over a piece of paper.

"What are you doing, lass?"

"You're awake!" she exclaimed, turning sharply while shoving the paper into the sleeve of her gear.

"You should have woken me earlier." Brynjolf said, glancing at the window and figuring it to be late in the morning. She smiled at him, grabbing his gear and tossing it his way.

"Just hurry up and get dressed. We have a skeever problem to take care of before we can hit the Thane's house for that claw."

"We?" he asked, raising an eyebrow before slipping on his gear over his bare chest. "I thought you were doing that alone."

"I've changed my mind." She replied with a shrug.

Brynjolf felt a large grin cover his face. He couldn't have stopped it if he wanted to. The combination of Alor looking so relaxed and happy along with her wanting him to go with her seemed almost too good to be true, but he wasn't about to complain. Happiness wasn't something he often saw on her face and he could appreciate how radiant it made her skin and bright her eyes. It transformed her from looking like just another Dunmer to some sort of prized beauty. His own smile grew with the thought.

"What's the plan, then, Alor?" he asked, strapping his own weapons to his chest.

"We go to Honningbrew and speak to this Sabjorn." She said opening the door for him and letting him lead them out of the inn. In the distance, yells could be heard mixed with wails. Despite the distance, Brynjolf could hear the agony in the screams, causing him to shiver despite himself.

"Wonder what's going on." He said as they made their way down the sloping road.

"Probably someone getting bad news from the Stormcloaks." Alor said with a shrug.

"Aye." Brynjolf replied. Despite the civil war being officially over for a few years, the Imperial presence in Skyrim was still enough that the couriers were kept busy with death notices. Whiterun, especially, had links with High King Ulfric's enemies, making deaths all the more common.

Suddenly, Alor pulled on his arm violently to get him off the path and behind a house. "Get over here!"

"What are you doing?" he asked at the unexpected behavior.

"Shh!" she said, holding her fingers up to her lips before quickly clasping her mask on. "Do you see that woman?"

Brynjolf peeked from behind the house at a dark-haired woman clad in heavy armor. "What about her, lass?"

"She's the Thane's housecarl." She answered, her voice containing venom. "Lydia."

"And?"

"Best she doesn't see us. Wouldn't want her remembering two strangers in town the day we rob the person she's 'sworn to protect'." She finished with a hint of mockery.

"Does she really take her duty that seriously?"

"She does." Alor replied as they watched the Nord woman slowly make her way up the hill.

"Alright, she's gone. Shall we continue on?" Brynjolf said, his body ready and needing some action after so much time delegating work in the ratways instead of doing any of it.

"Let's go." The elf replied, quickly leading them from Whiterun and into the open wilderness outside of the gates.

It was only a short walk to the large, impressive meadery. Brynjolf could immediately see why Maven was concerned. The building alone looked better than the old, run-down place the Black-Briars owned. Once inside, the job made even more sense as the clean, spacious interior would be coveted by the shrewd woman. The only thing that detracted from the meadery's fine qualities was the overpowering stench of skeever dung.

Moving further in, he stood back while Alor glided towards the bar and the balding man working it. "What are you gawking at? Can't you see I have problems here?" the man spat at Alor's silent approach.

"Something wrong?" she asked, letting her right side lean against the bar casually.

"Are you kidding me? Smell this place!" the barkeep replied, waving his hands around. "I'm suppose to be holding a tasting of Honningbrew Reserve for the Captain of the Guard. If he comes to the meadery in this state I'll be ruined!"

"We might be able to help." She answered with a shrug.

"Oh, really?" the man said, elation and then suspicion lighting his face. "And I don't suppose you would do this out of the kindness of your heart, would you?"

Alor said nothing, but must have given him some sort of look since the man snorted and crossed his arms. "I hope you're not expecting to get paid until the job's done."

"That's the only way we operate." Brynjolf answered for the elf, sensing a large sum of gold could easily be earned.

The man regarded Brynjolf's towering frame for a moment and furrowed his brow in thought. "Fine."

Brynjolf smiled, moving towards his friend and gladly taking a heavy bag filled with coin.

"My only demand is that the vermin are permanently eliminated." The unpleasant man continued. "Before my reputation is completely destroyed. I bought some poison that should stop them from ever coming back should you plant it in the vermin's nest."

"Deal." Brynjolf said with a smile taking the key Sabjorn offered.

"And don't come back until every one of those things are dead." The man said, turning back to his work. Brynjolf gave Alor a quick smile as they turned and used the key to enter the meadery. He was again impressed by the shear size of the operation. Honningbrew was a very large threat to Maven and would most likely succeed in destroying Black-Briar Meadery if given enough time. Seeing no sign of the skeevers, though, they quickly left the main area of the meadery and headed into the basement.

"Ugh!" Brynjolf choked as they opened the door and a large waft of dung and decay hit him. "Smells like they've been here."

"Oh they're here all right." Alor whispered as small scratching noises started to move towards them. She gave him a quick, mischievous look before quickly drawing her mace and moving towards a large barrel. Brynjolf barely had time to pull his own daggers before he heard her grunt with a swing and a small squeal from a skeever rise up.

The noise seemed to excite the rest of the pests to leave their dark hiding places. In a matter of seconds the room was crawling with the diseased things. The pair worked quickly, daggers and mace breaking into the furry little bodies, but more seemed to come. As expected, they quickly flocked around the little elf with the scent of her wound. Brynjolf worked fast and hard to clear as many from her back as possible, but still a few managed to bite the girl and him in the process.

With a small grunt, he finally killed the last of them. "Damned things." He cursed, pulling out a bottle filled with a potion to stave off diseases. Taking a long drink he handed it to the elf, who gladly followed his example.

"We still have to find the nest." Alor said, reattached her mask after handing the pink bottle back to the fiery Nord.

Brynjolf nodded and looked around the room. One wall had the planks torn off, leading to a long, deep tunnel. "That looks like the spot." He said, pointing his dagger at the hole.

"Let's go." She replied, her hand gripping the mace handle tightly. Quickly, they descended the path, taking care of skeevers, spiders, and even more skeevers. Their method of killing soon fell into a rhythm, each helping the other without a word or questions. It was as if they were fighting with one mind and one heart while they took out a rather large and nasty spider, acting as a team rather than individuals.

"You're pretty good at fighting." Brynjolf commented as they continued further underground. "Especially for someone so small."

Alor laughed, playfully shoving him for the taunt. Yet, before she could say anything they were once more bombarded by skeevers. "They just never end!" she exclaimed after the last one dropped to her mace.

"This is a right infestation." Brynjolf agreed, shaking out his tired hands. "But we've got to be getting close to the nest."

"We must be –" Alor started, before falling silent and growing stiff.

"What is it?" the Nord asked, getting a quick look and gesture to stay quiet. He did as she instructed and followed her cue as she dropped into a low crouch. Silently they wandered down a tunnel until Brynjolf finally heard the soft mumbling of a man. _This must have been what she heard,_ he thought as she motioned for him to stop. He watched her as she slowly inched forward, her feet silent on the rocky ground. Her body stiffened and still suddenly causing Brynjolf's heart to start racing. He gripped his daggers tightly as a crazy looking man appeared, mumbling incoherently.

Alor slowly placed her mace back at her hip and grabbed one of her lethal looking knives. In the next few moments, Brynjolf would remember not being able to fully follow what happened. The elf moved with such speed she seemed to disappear from where she crouched and reappear with her knife in the man's throat. Blood exploded as she slashed through his major arteries and veins, his body falling lifelessly at her feet.

"You killed him!" Brynjolf exclaimed as she stood, reaching for a nearby cup and dumping the liquid over her soiled armor.

"He was crazy." Alor said with a shrug, grabbing a book and flipping through its pages. "Here, look at this."

She tossed him the book, which he caught, despite still being in shock at her brutal attack. Glancing at it, he saw just how crazy the man was. _Still, she didn't know this when she killed him_, he thought grimly. "Alor, you can't just go around killing people, crazy or not. That's not what the Thieves Guild does." He admonished as she quickly laid out the poison.

She gave him a hard look, but softened after a moment. "Okay, Brynjolf."

"Good." He replied, feeling as though she somehow was only saying what he wanted to hear. "Let's get out of here."

The elf nodded her agreement as they ascended the tunnels far quicker than they had before. Taking a few different paths, they found themselves inside the main brewing room, allowing them to poison the Reserve batch as instructed. Brynjolf was glad that they didn't waste any time finishing the job or waiting to see the outcome. He was tired and wanted to be in the open air of Skyrim after a long afternoon in a dank, skeever-filled cave.

In silence they traveled the short distance back to Whiterun. Immediately, Brynjolf noticed something was wrong. No guards stood at the door and the streets were empty. It was an eerie feeling to have no sound coming from the normally busy city. "Where is everyone?" he wondered aloud.

"I would say up there." The little elf answered, pointing towards Dragonsreach where a large plume of smoke could be seen. "Good opportunity to get into Breezehome."

"Breezehome?" Brynjolf asked, following the elf's quick steps.

"The Thane's house. That's what it's called." She replied, turning sharply to bring them to the door of a unused looking home. "This is it."

"Really?" he asked, looking at the vacant home's unkempt exterior. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"How do you know?" he asked, stooping to work the lock despite his misgivings.

"I've been in Whiterun enough to know the prominent places." She said, watching him work.

The lock clicked easily, adding to his suspicions that the home may not have anything of value. _Still, I found a treasure in an abandoned house in Solitude_, he reasoned, crouching into a low sneaking position just in case his judgment of the house being empty was wrong.

The elf followed him in and shut the door, letting darkness descend on them. It was clear by the amount of dust covering everything from the windows to the floor that the house hadn't been entered in years. "Well, no use sneaking." He said, rising up to his full, tall height.

Alor unclipped her mask and pulled down her hood, shaking out her long braid impatiently. "Let's just get the damned treasure and get out."

Brynjolf ignored her, taking in the peeling blue paint and few scattered ashes in the hearth. Deciding that the main floor had little of interest, he moved up the stairs and opened a set of large doors.

"What have we here!" he said eyeing the five large chests filled the unused bedroom. "Seems your information was right, lass!"

Alor shrugged, standing outside the room fidgeting uncomfortably. "Should be fairly easy to open."

Brynjolf turned back to the chests, excitement pushing on his chest with every quick beat of his heart. The first chest wasn't even locked, but the contents were nothing more than broken blades, hammers, and maces. Shutting it with disappointment, he moved to the second. This one he to spend a few seconds to get past an easy lock, but for the work he was greatly rewarded. The chest was brimming with gems and precious stones. "By Talos!" he exclaimed taking a handful of rubies and diamonds.

"Here," Alor replied, emptying a nearby bag of clothing. "Put them in this."

Brynjolf did as she suggested, laughing the entire time. "There's got to be thousands of gold worth in this chest alone!"

"Probably." The elf replied with some irritation.

"What's wrong?" he asked, scooping handful after handful into the bag. "Aren't you excited, lass?"

"I just don't like this place." She said, tying off the top of the bag.

"All right, I'll go as fast as I can." He answered, agreeing that the house did have a slightly sad and cold feeling to it.

Opening the next three chests was just as exciting as the second. Each had a plethora of valuable gems, gold, or loose coin filling them. He even found the dragon claw, just as she had described. It was a great load that they ended up hauling out of the house after only thirty minutes of being there. _Mercer will be wetting himself when I show him what we found_, he thought gleefully as they moved up the empty streets to the inn.

Once secured in their room, Brynjolf couldn't help but looking at their loot again. There was so much of it that soon it covered the bed, the table, and a large portion of the floor. He was so excited that he barely noticed Alor's blank stare and sullen attitude towards the goods.

Turning to the sour woman, he gave her a large smile and grabbed her hand enthusiastically, pulling her into a tight embrace. "You are amazing!" he exclaimed, squeezing her in his excitement and letting her go. Immediately, he felt the color rise in his face at the shocked expression the elf wore. "Sorry, I got carried away, lass." He said, pulling on his hair before busying himself with cleaning up the mess he made.

"It's fine." She answered, touching her side lightly.

"Oh by Talos, I didn't hurt you did I?" he asked, realizing that despite her recent increase in energy and strength, she was still injured.

"No!" she exclaimed, forcing a smile on her face. "I'm fine, really. Don't worry, Brynjolf."

"I really am sorry, lass. I just haven't had a haul like this in nearly six years. In fact, the Guild hasn't seen money like this in about as long. You can't imagine what this will mean to not only me, but everyone else." Brynjolf replied, taking her hand and giving it a soft squeeze in thanks.

"I only told you where you could find some stupid gems. Nothing more." She said, her eyes shooting away from his large, grateful stare.

"No, you've done more than that, lass. You've brought life back to the Guild."

She turned from him, her body tensing with embarrassment. She mumbled something that he thought sounded like _I only did it for you_, but he couldn't be sure. No matter what she said, he felt his heart beating wildly in his chest just looking at her. She was quick and strong, she had great skill as a thief and was bringing prosperity back to his family, and there was something enticing about her when she let her guard down and looked vulnerable or genuinely happy. He couldn't help but think about how she had felt in his arms only a few moments earlier and smile at how tiny and frail she appeared compared to him. _She is something_, he thought again, turning from her so he could change into his fine clothes again.

"What do you say to going downstairs and getting some food and drink?" he asked, wiping the grime from his face with a cloth.

"I am hungry." She replied, her eyes still avoiding his. "I'll meet you there. I have to go do something really quick."

"What's that?" he asked, his arm stopping mid brush of his tangled hair as he waited for a response.

"It's nothing. Just something I've been meaning to do since I've been feeling better." She shrugged standing quickly and moving for the door. "I'll see you downstairs in five minutes."

"All right, lass." He replied watching her go. _What is she doing?_ He thought, moving towards the opening that overlooked the bar area of the inn. From where he stood, she wouldn't be able to see him, but he was able to watch her appear in the main level and approach the barkeep. They spoke for a few minutes before the woman pointed towards a gangly looking man sitting by the fire. Alor moved towards the man and began talking to him. Brynjolf watched as she pulled out the slip of paper she had been working on that morning and hand it to the man along with a few gold pieces.

"That's odd." He mumbled, moving from the opening and making his way downstairs. "I thought she couldn't write."

He stood in the shadows for a moment, watching the elf order some food and drink and move towards the table they had occupied the previous night. Brynjolf took the momentary distraction to signal the man she had just spoken to over to him.

"Yes, sir? What can I do to help you?" the man asked, lowering his voice with Brynjolf's gesture.

"I wanted to know what my friend gave you just now." He asked, his curiosity over her reserved behavior that afternoon and secretive nature overcoming all the positive feelings he had just had for her.

"That goes against the rules of being a courier." The man replied, frowning deeply.

"What if I was to give you a ruby?" Brynjolf asked, pulling out one of the gems he had shoved in his pocket at some point and placing it in the man's palm.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt showing you." The man replied, his eyes darting around. "So long as you don't tell my supervisor."

"I won't." the Nord reassured the young man.

"Here it is." He said pulling out a sheet of paper that held three lines, one having a roughly drawn slash through it. "She told me to take it to Dawnstar and give it to a little girl."

"A little girl?" he asked, his mind trying decipher the meaning of the drawing.

"Yes, a little Nord girl that would be outside the inn at night."

"A Nord girl?" he asked again, the situation become stranger. "Did she say how she new the girl?"

"No sir, but if I find out more when I deliver it I can let you know." The courier said, his eyes hopeful at the prospect of more money.

"Do that." He said, handing him a sapphire from his pocket. "You can find me in Riften market most days."

"I will, sir!" the courier said enthusiastically, moving back to the fire with the note and gems in his pocket.

_Dawnstar,_ Brynjolf thought, his mind turning through all the reasons the elf would have to send a picture to Dawnstar. He couldn't think of anything that was reasonable, the child was a Nord so it couldn't be a daughter or relative of the elf. Also, there wasn't a population of Dunmer in that area. A correspondence with Windhelm would have been understandable, but Dawnstar? He was at a loss.

_She must have some dealings there, though_, he acknowledged, wondering what they were. _Perhaps that's where she went when she got injured_. The idea made him like the entire situation even less, but he resolved to push it from his mind. Alor was opening up to him and was slowly telling him things about herself. She would tell him in her own time, _or the courier will_.

Feeling better about it, he let the days work fill him with his previous joy as he moved from the stairs and joined her at a table laden with food.

"What took you so long?" she asked, biting into a piece of rabbit with relish.

"Nothing." He replied with a smile, filling his own plate with food.

Alor looked like she was about to ask something else when the doors to the inn burst open, revealing a group of angry looking warriors fully clad in armor and swords. "Who are they?" she asked, her eyes following the three men and one woman as they moved towards the bar.

"Those, lass, are the Companions. I stole from that lot almost a year ago." Brynjolf said with a smile, turning back to his food. "Almost lost a few body parts in the process. They are not a bunch to cross."

"They just look like thugs." Alor replied, eyeing two dark-haired Nords with slightly different builds but identical faces that were armed as if they were expecting a dragon to swoop in.

"Organized thugs that operate within the law." He replied. "That lass over there with the face paint left a nasty scar on my back with her arrows."

"Really?" Alor asked, looking at Brynjolf in shock. "I thought you were too good to be caught."

"I am." He laughed. "That's why I'm here and not sitting in Whiterun's dungeon!"

The elf laughed, her face lightening and all the awkwardness of over her secret letter and his late arrival leaving them. Brynjolf quickly started telling her about a gold-covered horn that the Companions kept on display in their hall. He had been hired to steal it by someone the warriors had rejected from joining their ranks. He didn't think it was going to be a difficult job, slipping into their home in the middle of the night. Despite being as quiet as he possibly could, they had heard him somehow from the rooms below and chased after him. He just barely escaped by jumping in the river and swimming underwater for as long as he possibly could.

Alor laughed through this story, Brynjolf adding his own comedy to the retelling so as to see her smile. "And, that lass, is the reason why you don't cross the Companions. They have ears like wolves!" he finished, taking a long drink from his mug.

"So it seems." She replied darkly, as the eyes of one of the identical men seemed to float towards them and stop. The intensity of his stare made Brynjolf's guard go up while the Companion nudged what had to be his brother and started towards them.

"Funs over." Brynjolf muttered, pulling out his dagger and setting it his lap under the table.

"You have a lot of nerve stinking up Whiterun with your stench, thief." The smaller of the two men said, his steely eyes searing Brynjolf's relaxed looking face.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The fiery Nord answered. "I'm just passing through."

"Don't lie." The man seethed. "I recognize your smell."

"Ask them about the boy." The larger Companion said to his brother, his face grim.

"What boy?" Brynjolf asked, suddenly confused after he was sure they would be demanding their property back.

"Quiet, Farkas." The smaller man said, barely taking his eyes off Brynjolf as he did. "Why are you in Whiterun, thief?"

"Like I said, just passing through?" Brynjolf answered. "What is this about a boy?"

"Seems a murderer slipped into town last night and killed the heir to one of the richest families in town." The Companion said darkly, his eyes growing dangerous and feral looking.

"I don't know a thing about that." Brynjolf answered.

"He's lying, Vilkas!" the man addressed as Farkas said.

"I have to agree. It's odd that a criminal like you would just happen to appear the same day a very rich, prominent citizen is skinned alive." Vilkas said, moving closer to where Brynjolf sat.

"I'm not Brotherhood, Companion." Brynjolf said quickly. "I think you're confusing your organizations."

The air hung tense for a moment, Brynjolf focusing on nothing by the armed man before him. He watched as the dark-haired Nord's face twitched, followed by a slight jerk of his arm. _He's going to draw his sword_, he realized, his brain slowly processing the danger. Yet, before he could move his hand that held his dagger, Alor was out of her seat and on top of the large man, her knife pressed against his throat.

"Another move and you die, Nord." She hissed, the point of her blade indenting the man's skin while kneeling on his arm that had been reaching for his sword.

The noise of the jostle drew the attention of the rest of the tavern, including the other two Companions. The man called Farkas had his weapon drawn but looked unsure of what to do.

"What's going on here?" came the woman's voice. Brynjolf remembered the curses she had flung at him while shooting her arrows, causing his back to ache in memory of the injury.

"You're friends were just saying hello." Brynjolf said, smiling despite the danger of the situation.

"You!" the woman exclaimed, her eyes widening in anger.

"Aela, calm down." The man that had followed her said. "And you, girl, let Vilkas go or you will meet my blade."

"Not before his throat is slashed." Alor snapped, pushing her knife harder on his throat so the skin became red and irritated.

"Back off, Skjor." Vilkas rasped under Alor's knife. "She's not lying."

"Seems your friends didn't believe we weren't involved in some death here." Brynjolf said to the tense group.

"You expect us to believe that?" Farkas boomed, his eyes growing angry as his brother let out a small whine over the odd angle Alor was holding his arm in.

"Yes, because it's true. We're thieves, not assassins." Brynjolf said. "And we haven't done anything in Whiterun. We're just passing through. Even ask the at the bar."

Aela gave him a long look before motioning for the man called Skjor to go ask the barkeep about the two thieves movements. The Nord returned a few minutes later shaking his head. "She says they got here last night and didn't leave until late this morning. It wasn't them."

"That can't be right!" Farkas cried. "Who else could have done it."

"I would say it sounds like you have a problem with the Brotherhood." Brynjolf replied. "Now that that is settled, can we finish our meal in peace?"

"Let Vilkas go and then maybe." Aela replied, her voice hard with experience.

"Maybe isn't good enough." Alor spat. "Go away and then I'll let him go. If you come back, someone will die."

The dark, commanding tone of the elf's voice was enough to send the hairs on his neck straight up. He could see that the other Companions felt the same as they shuffled away without a word.

"As for you," Alor said, looking straight into the captive Companion's eyes. "You bother me or my friend _ever_ again, it will be the last thing you do in your miserable life. Do you understand?"

Vilkas murmured something, getting a smile from Alor. "Good. Now forget you ever saw us and leave." She finished, standing up and letting the Companion drag himself from the floor. She looked around the bar, causing the gawkers to return to their mead and conversations.

"We should get out of here." Alor said. "Let's go get some sleep and leave as early as possible. Otherwise there is going to be more trouble."

"What was that, lass?" Brynjolf said, letting his shock and tension over the whole thing finally show.

The elf remained silent until they reached their lone room, locking the door behind her. "They were going to kill you."

"I know. I saw him go for his sword." Brynjolf replied, sinking on the bed and rubbing his eyes. "But I could have handled it."

"You would have been dead by the time you moved." She replied, sitting next to him. "He had the advantage on you."

What she said was true. He had been slow to move and was sitting. It was a bad position to be in when facing a great sword. "Thank you." He finally said, sighing deeply.

She lightly laid her hand on his and let her scarlet eyes move to his. "I wouldn't let them hurt you."

Her words and the look in her eyes stirred something deep within him. Electricity seemed to buzz over his skin with her touch while her eyes cleared any linger doubt or negative thought he had about her. He felt himself pulled towards her by some invisible power, his hand moving from where it had sat to rest low on her back. Her muscles contracted under his touch but relaxed, urging him to move closer to her.

"Alor?" he whispered, their bodies turned close to each other, his hand still on her back.

She looked at him, her eyes lined with expectation and a little fear. His heart began thumping loudly as he let his body lean towards hers. His eyes fluttered shut as he lightly brushed her lips with his own, the soft skin burning his.

He pulled away, her body shuddering and a small gasp escaping her lips. He looked at her, waiting for some sign whether he could continue with all the things his wild heart was pushing him to do.

Alor looked down, her face masked by a few loose strands of her dark hair and the shadows of the room. Brynjolf began to feel a dread wash over him, thinking that he was out of line with what he just did. Just as he began to search for the words to say to apologize for being so bold, she grabbed his hand and given it a squeeze. Wordlessly, she gave him a shy smile and moved to the head of the bed, holding his hand all the while.

Lifting the covers, they slipped into their protective warmth. Both still wore their clothing, blocking anything but their hands and their lips from touching. Alor pulled Brynjolf close to her as they lay facing each other, her eyes daring him to kiss her again. Feeling a heat build in him, he let his arm drift over her armor while his lips met hers with a gentle force, hers responding likewise. Her hand tentatively reached out for his chest, feeling it through the soft cloth of his fine robes. She brought her lips to his, letting them drag lightly over his desiring mouth before she rested her head against his chest and neck.

Brynjolf smiled as he felt her cling to him, the heat of her body filling his in a way he couldn't explain. Letting one hand stroke the armor over her arm, he felt her long, dark hair and shut his eyes, letting the sweet feeling surround him as he drifted off to sleep.


	20. Homecoming

**Chapter 19**

The next morning was a rush of activity. Neither had much of a chance to talk about anything that had passed the night before with the pressure of gathering their things and getting their bags of loot loaded into an awaiting carriage. Hulda, the owner of the inn had come by very early and asked them kindly to be out before sunrise. It seems that the Companions were regulars of hers and she didn't want people around that upset that. Brynjolf had complied heartily, not really wanting to be around in Whiterun much longer anyways.

It wasn't until he had settled himself on a bench next to the Dunmer and the carriage was pulling away from Whiterun that he even let his mind wander to the few little kisses they had shared. The thought alone made his lips burn and feel larger than what they were. _You've done it now, Brynjolf_, he thought to himself as his mind travelled down the path of what followed tentative kisses and quiet embraces. He had fallen. He didn't know when it happened or how, but the angry and dangerous recruit had quickly morphed into a kindred spirit, to family member, and now some sort of intimate fantasy that was only just being teased at.

_I should stop this_, he thought, his mind turning towards what happened with Vex nearly two years ago yet was still an issue every day. Turning towards the masked elf, though, his heart fluttered a little. She was different than Vex, or Tonilia, or any of the other girls there had been. She wasn't some bullheaded Nord woman that didn't want a man's help, or a dainty flower in need of constant care. Alor was strong and damaged all at the same time, just as he had been and still was to a degree. She had shown in the Bannered Mare that she was prepared to put herself in danger for those she viewed as important, _as family_, without a second thought. Not many in the Guild would do that for someone else, let alone Brynjolf. Alor had been right when she said that he was the only one that truly viewed it as a family, with all the responsibility and sacrifice that it entailed.

Smiling at her, he picked at her hand and was happy to feel it wrap around his without a second of hesitation. _We'll just keep it quiet and take it slow_, he decided. He didn't want to let his own free-spirited nature when it came to women harm the poor girl. The slight fear that sat behind her eyes when he had kissed her was enough to tell him that she wasn't completely over the horrors of her childhood.

The silence of the ride home continued its comfortable existence, allowing the Skyrim landscape to shift from plains to mountains. Soon, they were back in Riften, the sun still high due to the early hour they left Whiterun. Taking up the two bags with the majority of the coin and gems, he nodded his head towards the lighter two and they made their way into the cistern. Brynjolf was surprised to see it so full. Thrynn was standing in the center of the room surrounded by the other thieves, loudly boasting about the job in Markarth. Brynjolf ignored the laughs and instead headed straight towards a scowling Mercer.

"Well look who's back." The Breton said, standing up from a miserable looking pile of coin. A loud laugh rose in the cavern, causing Mercer's hands to ball into tight fists. "They were gone for two months, Brynjolf, and only made three thousand gold. TWO MONTHS!" he yelled, causing the lively group to suddenly grow silent and drift away. "You had better have done something good while you were gone."

"We did." Brynjolf said, setting down his two bags and letting the silent elf do the same before he continued. "Maven's job went off without a hitch and the little lass did more than provide us with a good hit."

"Oh really? What did you bring back? More clothes and useless dishes?" Mercer said, his eyes narrowing as he took out a knife and sliced through the top of the bag. "Holy MARA!"

"And that's just one bag!" Brynjolf added, causing the elated Breton's eyes to almost bulge forward in surprise.

Taking his knife, he opened the other three bags, pulling out diamonds and rubies, jewelry studded with emeralds, fine circlets enchanted with strange spells, and a pure gold dragon claw key with three large diamonds. "All of this was in Whiterun?"

"In a single house!" Brynjolf continued, shooting a happy glance back at the quiet elf.

"How did you know all of this was there, elf?" Mercer asked, having to peer behind Brynjolf where she hid in his shadow.

"I overheard the housecarl talking about it." She whispered, her voice shaking slightly. "May I go?"

"Yes, go." Mercer said, his attention focused on the treasure. "Brynjolf, for once you were right. That recruit actually is something more than a lazy failure."

"I know." The Nord replied, pride filling his voice.

"She's good for a grayback. Almost makes you think of Karliah." The Breton mused, his eyes darkening.

"She's nothing like that. She's just a good thief."

Mercer gave a little laugh. "They're all the same, Brynjolf. Although I could understand why Gallus was so intrigued by that traitor. Tiny little things, aren't they?"

Brynjolf didn't like Mercer's tone. It was the same one he used when he discussed many of the women in the Guild. In fact, Brynjolf was sure that a fair number of the female thieves over the years eventually left because of the Breton and his beliefs about their place in his organization. "Careful, Mercer." He warned, his chest rising with the potential threat.

"Well, well, so you do have a _thing_ for the elf after all." Mercer commented, a sickly smile growing on his face. "For your sake I hope you sleep with a knife."

"Talos, Mercer. She's done nothing but proven herself time and again." Brynjolf exclaimed, his hands moving to his hair unconsciously.

Mercer smiled, his hand pulling out more precious stones and coins and began counting them meticulously. Brynjolf realized that he was done with him and began walking away. "Gallus didn't take my advice and look where it got him. Just remember that, Brynjolf." The Breton called out almost as an after thought.

_She's not Karliah_, he thought, making a quick retreat to the Ragged Flagon where everyone else was sure to be.


	21. Decisions

**Chapter 20**

_Niruin is back._ The words sung out in her mind, drowning out the loud clamor of the Flagon. She had left Brynjolf only minutes ago, escaping the hard looks and angry flashes of Mercer, only to be introduced to the Bosmer who had returned from Markarth only hours before.

_Niruin is back_, she thought again, excitement rushing through her. _Then I can go home!_ The words spun through her mind before she realized what she was even thinking. At first, they left a happy, content feeling deep inside her until Brynjolf walked through the door, a large smile on his strong-jawed face. Suddenly, what was a happy, wonderful thought became bitter and rose up in her like bile. Going home meant leaving _him._

She watched the Nord from her corner, his laugh ringing out as he greeted the two recently returned thieves while his sharp blue eyes sparkled happily, like a brother greeting their sibling after a long period of not seeing them. She finally understood what he meant by the Guild being his family. He believed it and it showed in his interactions. The others respected him and enjoyed his company, but their eyes did not return the same affection he had for them. _They don't deserve him_, she thought bitterly.

She turned from the happy reunion and looked out over the stagnant water surrounding the Flagon, her happy mood deflated. _The Brotherhood comes first_, she told herself as her mind let ideas of how to make some sort of relationship with the Nord work. It was impossible. The Brotherhood was her family like the thieves were his, they needed her like the Guild needed him. _But would the Babette or Nazir really do what he did for me?_

The question had plagued her a few times since her injury. Yes, the band of assassins were tighter than the thieves ever would be, but in the end the weak had always been allowed to die out. That is why only she, Nazir, Babette, and Cicero had survived the attempted destruction of the society years ago. Alor knew that Babette would have tended her wounds and Cicero would have cared for her, but none would have sat by her side for hours on end. None would put aside their work for her. Even as the Listener, if she fell to someone's blade they would not mourn her as they hadn't mourned any of the others. She, like Brynjolf, valued them more than they valued her.

The conflicting thoughts began to repeat over and over and over in her head, her chest tightening so that it was becoming uncomfortable to breathe. Her skin started to itch under her clothes while she ruminated over what seemed to be an impossible position. Leaning forward she felt her muscles tighten and her jaw clench, the anxiety building in her until her mind began to scream for some small piece of order, some level of control. The need for blood would come next bring with it the violent, undiscriminating, and uncontrolled kills that would give her a release from the tightness inside of her.

Standing, she quickly made her way out of the Flagon, reaching the ratway passages without giving a second glance to anyone. The assassin leaned against the moist walls of the empty tunnel, grasping at her chest while a small tremor passed through her diaphragm. The world wasn't clear anymore. She had had only three years of peace, forgetting the life of the Dragonborn and clinging to the routines of the Brotherhood. She hadn't had a single attack in nearly two years. The Guild contract changed that.

Slumping down onto the floor, she let herself rock, pulling her knees up into her chest. "It's okay, okay, okay, okay…" she repeated, the bobbing motion doing little to soothe the increasing tightness and internal chaos. The Brotherhood was home, home was organized and controlled, home was predictable, home was good. The thoughts coursed through her, circling and circling, doing a continual loop that she was unable to escape.

"Lass?" a voice echoed down the hall, kind and caring, tearing through her mental prison with a soothing calm.

_Brynjolf_. The word was simple, direct, and powerful. _Brynjolf,_ she thought again, her heart slowing and her body falling still.

"Alor? Are you down here?" his voice came again, closer and stronger.

She let out a ragged breath, her chest rising and falling in uneven pulses while the tightness dissipated. The world cleared a little, the haze of her mind blowing away with each deep breath she took. Finally, she felt a calm reach her just as the heavy footsteps of the red-headed Nord were upon her.

"Alor!" his voice called, his body appearing only a few seconds behind the sound. "There you are! What are you doing down here, lass?" he asked, squatting down next to where she still sat with her legs curled up.

"I needed some air." She said, her scarlet eyes searching his and then looking down.

"I saw you leave." Brynjolf started, concern filling his voice. "Is everything all right?"

He grabbed her hand, holding it between his own to warm the cool skin. Alor felt herself shiver as her body awakened to external sensations, the sweat that covered her becoming cold in the damp ratway. "I just needed to get away for a little while. I needed to think." She answered truthfully.

Brynjolf sunk to the ground beside her, letting her hand go as he searched her eyes the peered out over her mask. Alor noticed his glance and reached up to take the mask off, forcing herself outside of the security it provided. Brynjolf smiled at the small gesture, but it didn't remove the worry in his eyes. "What did you need to think about?" he asked, his voice catching slightly.

"The future." She said softly, barely daring to let her eyes catch his.

"And what did you decide?" the Nord asked, pulling away a little as he anticipated her words.

"I haven't." she said, her eyes darting to him just enough to see the sad look covering his face. His eyes seemed darker as his emotion emerged while the corners of his mouth tugged down. Even his skin seemed to pale.

"Is it me, lass?" he asked, his voice a shadow of its normal confidence. "Have I pushed you too hard?"

She shook her head, pulling her legs back into her and letting her body rock slightly, the motion providing a comforting familiarity. "I'm scared."

The words left her lips before she was even aware of them, the truth in them cathartic in its release. She was scared of what leaving Riften in three months would mean, she was scared what it meant if she stayed, she was scared of her increasing dreams, and she was scared about how quickly Brynjolf had become such a crucial part of her life. Things were changing and she was scared.

She felt his hand grasp hers again and pull her close. She closed her eyes and listened to the steady drumming of his heart and quiet pulls of air coursing in his chest. His arms around her gave her the sense of security she only ever felt when wearing a mask, his touch calming the storm inside her like a frenzy kill. She was safe and she felt a sense of control fill her.

"You don't have to be scared." His voice called out softly, his arms holding her tightly. "I won't hurt you or do anything you don't want me to do."

She didn't say anything as she let herself relax against him. She trusted him like she trusted no one else. He had saved her life and cared for her. He was what she needed.

"Do you want to go back to the Guild?" he finally asked, loosening his arms so she could look up at him.

"Only if you come with."

"Of course." He replied, bending forward and kissing her cheek lightly. Alor felt her heart thump at the contact. Leaning forward, she nervously brought her mouth to his, letting their lips press together while tingles went down her limbs in a strange and pleasant sort of way. It wasn't painful or frightening like all the kisses of her past, but she felt an urgency rise in her as he let his hands move to the back of her head and his lips continuing soft movements against hers.

She let her arms wrap around his body, her fingers pressing against his skin at all of the unknown feelings that pulsed through her. Brynjolf's hands twisted through her hair, his mouth widening and pressing harder again her own. She felt her a jolt run through her as her heart beat wildly. Suddenly she felt his tongue move into her mouth, creating a strange sensation to run through her while brief images of sweaty faces and greedy eyes flashed in her mind.

She pulled away from him, the memories lingering for a moment before falling silent. "I-I-" she started, trying to find the words to answer the question in his eyes.

"Don't worry, lass." He said, kissing her lightly on the back of her hand. "I understand."

"Thank you." She whispered, letting him lift her to her feet.

Together they walked back to the Guild, sneaking into the still full Flagon. Alor felt a slight longing as she let his hand go and moved towards the door of the cistern in the shadows while Brynjolf strolled through the crowd that seemed to not to have even noticed their absence. Watching the handsome Nord talk for a moment to his colleagues and friends, she couldn't help but smile.

Turning from the small gathering, she moved to her bed and pulled out a small bottle from under her pillow. Tonight, she would give Niruin his first dose of poison, setting into motion the slow death the Brotherhood planned for him and marking the beginning of the end of her time in the Guild. Slowly, a plan began to form in her mind of what she would do when her three months were up in order to keep what she needed and wanted; Brynjolf. Turning the bottle slowly in her hand, she smiled. _I'm going to need to find some Speakers_.


	22. The Next Step

**AN: Well, I tried to keep this as T as possible. That being said, if you don't like the amount of sauciness in any PG-13 movie, skip the ending of this.**

**Chapter 21**

A few days had passed from Brynjolf's return from Whiterun with Alor and the Guild finally seemed to be in rising spirits. The haul of valuables from Breezehome was still a major topic of conversation, out weighing any talk on Maven's increasing business frustrations, gossip of Vex and Delvin having an affair, and even Brynjolf's own interest in Alor. None of it mattered when compared to the shear amount of gold Whiterun had recently donated to the Guild.

The loot did more to the Guild than provide talk. The thieves all seemed more motivated to get out and do jobs, while whispers of the Guild's influence was spreading across Skyrim. Yet, perhaps best of all, attitudes were changing towards the quiet and intense dark elf. Brynjolf was happy to see that Delvin seemed more relaxed when giving jobs to Alor and Vex was not nearly as nasty. No one even questioned him any more when he went to meet Alor outside the Riften walls after she finished a job. It was all becoming a routine that they accepted.

_Things are looking up_, he thought with a smile while he sat on the same rock he had used to wait for Alor when she was still an unproven new recruit. It almost made him laugh at how much he distrusted her at first when now all he wanted to do was be with her. Especially after how _close_ they had become lately. She was becoming more comfortable with him, allowing him to move further and further every time they were alone. He wanted her badly and was hoping that soon they would be able to do more than just kiss.

_Careful, Bryn,_ he told himself as he let his imagination wander. _It'll come with time_.

The advice, though, seemed futile as he saw her approaching, her armor accenting her fit figure while her natural stealth allowing her the slink in a most becoming way. Brynjolf felt his heart push rapidly against his chest as he thought of all the treasures hiding _underneath_ the armor.

"Good job, lass?" he called out, rising from where he sat.

"Decent." She replied, holding a small bag that held some family heirloom.

He smiled and took the bag from her and grabbing her hand. "Are you in a hurry to get back to the cistern, then?"

She looked up, her red eyes shining brightly from under her hood and mask. "Just to get rid of the bag, why?"

"I was thinking we should spend some time together tonight." He said with a smile. "Mercer has left for the day and some of the others are out on jobs. We won't be missed."

Her hand squeezed his tighter as they entered the city gates. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll be ready."

Brynjolf smiled and leaned down to give her a quick kiss on the bridge of her nose over the mask. They descended into the cistern and parted ways. Brynjolf quickly went to vault and tossed the bag inside. Coming out, he waited while Alor fiddled with some bottles, feeling his anticipation rising. "Ready?" he called out over the empty cavern.

"Yes." She replied, meeting him by the door to the Flagon. She had taken her mask off and pulled her hood down. He always liked the slight sheen her dark hair had whenever she exposed it.

Smiling, he led her towards the rarely used door in the Flagon that opened to the ratway. She gave him a quick look and a smile, knowing where they were headed. It only took a few minutes to reach the small area Brynjolf had claimed as his own, the key clicking into the lock like a warm welcoming.

He motioned for Alor to enter the room, following after her and shutting the door. "Home sweet home." He sighed, loosening the straps of his gear and leaning against the wall.

The little elf curiously walked around the room, touching the spines of books, peering into chests, and taking in all the little things Brynjolf had collected over his years as a thief. "Why collect so much?" she asked, moving towards the far end of the room and sifting through a few pages of a book he had been reading.

"I don't know." He said with a shrug. "I just didn't want to part with these things after I found them."

She nodded slightly, moving towards the small box on the little dresser in the room. Opening it, she pulled out a small amulet engraved with a flame surrounded by six stars. "What's this?" she asked, holding the piece of metal close to her face.

Brynjolf felt his body tense at the sight of the amulet. He hadn't looked at it in about as long as he had been a thief. "That," he said slowly, "is my family crest."

She gave him a curious look before setting the silver piece down. Brynjolf was sure she could see the pain he felt at seeing the damned thing again. It was a reminder of his past and what happened. It was a reminder of everything he had lost but couldn't bear to throw away. She moved closer to him, placing her hand on his arm as he began to tug at his fiery hair.

"Brynjolf," she said softly, "What happened to your family?"

"Nothing happened to them." He replied, pulling away from her and turning so she wouldn't see his attempts at composure. "They all are fine."

"Then why are you here?" she persisted, grabbing his arm and turning him back towards her.

"They disowned me. Stripped me of my birthright and erased all record of me. I'm dead to them." He growled, his hurt coming out as anger.

"Why?" she asked despite his face reddening and jaw tightening.

"I was accused of something I didn't do."

"What, Brynjolf?"

He ran his hands through his hair, the words on the tip of his tongue. Gallus was the only one that ever knew his history in the Guild. He had never trusted anyone else with the full extent of his past, of his own personal tragedy. Sighing he looked over at the dark-skinned elf, seeing something soft and kind in her eyes that rarely appeared. "My father had just died." He started, images of his strong and proud father flashing through his mind. "He had been doing something for the Jarl of Solitude and had been injured. There was no saving him."

He stopped for a moment and licked his lips, his eyes never straying from the elf's beautiful face. "My older brother decided that since he was the head of our family after my father's death that he should take a wife. Being as rich as we were and Firebeard being a prominent name, he easily attracted the attention of the younger sister of Torygg, Freya. She was just barely older than I but had been in court for years, making her not only a good marriage, but a very cunning partner for a young noble.

"Unfortunately, my brother was weak. He had no skill with a sword and less skill when dealing with politics. The only thing he was good at was spending money. That didn't seem to impress Freya. So, one night she crept into my room and threw herself at me. I refused her, but she was use to getting her way and didn't like it when I told her I would go to my brother and have him break their engagement. She threatened to tell everyone I attacked her if I didn't keep my mouth shut and agree to some sort of affair. I thought she was bluffing. But she wasn't."

"She told your brother you attacked her?" Alor asked, her eyes widening with shock and then narrowing in anger. "She would lie about that?"

"Yes, she would." Brynjolf said grimly. "And what's worse, is my brother, mother, and even my younger sister believed her. She had gotten someone to make bruises on her arms and legs to act as proof. I can still remember the look in her eyes when my family threw me out. It was of triumph."

"They still don't know the truth?" she asked, her tone softening as she gently pulled his hands from his hair.

"I don't know. My brother died shortly after she got pregnant. It looked like the work of an assassin." He said, feeling a sort of sad relief in talking about his tragedy. "I haven't seen them since I left. The one time I tried I was refused even an audience with my mother, let alone my sister or the rest of the family."

Alor's eyes smoldered with indignation. "They didn't deserve you."

"Whether they did or didn't, they were still my family." Brynjolf said, moving to the bed and dropping on it heavily. "I still wish sometimes that it didn't happen. That _she_ wasn't the one my brother chose."

The elf moved next to him, her brow furrowing as she thought for a moment. "I wish I could change that for you." She said slowly, her face clouded by some unknown thought.

"Well, it all turned out in the end." Brynjolf said, attempting to lighten the mood. He grabbed her hand, and smiled at her before planting a small kiss on her cool skin. "If I still was a Firebeard I would be in Solitude doing something in the court instead of being here with you."

Her face brightened and her mouth moved into a large smile. Brynjolf felt his spirit lighten as he focused on her pretty face and alluring eyes. He couldn't imagine a time when he didn't think she was attractive, even though it hadn't been that long ago. Leaning forward he kissed her lightly on the lips, letting her body fall into his a little. He continued with the little pecks until her increasingly strong response emboldened him to move further.

Leaning her back on the bed, he let his fingers move over her armor, his own skin tingling from her increasingly less timid touches. A surge of passion filled him, urging him to move further. "Talos, lass!" he murmured between increasingly longer kisses. "You are making it hard for me to behave."

Her face was flushed and her hair disheveled, surrounding her head like a dark halo. "I'll tell you if you need to stop." She said, an encouraging smile crossing her lips.

Brynjolf smiled and moved back to her lips, but it wasn't enough. She was causing a fire to ignite inside him, driving his hands to find their way under her armor and onto the soft skin of her stomach. Leaning back, he gave her a questioning look before loosening some of the straps and pulling the thick leather off so that she was only in a worn linen shirt and her leather pants. Brynjolf quickly pulled off his own armor so that he could feel her warm skin against his bare chest.

She smiled at him, kicking off her boots while he did the same. Coming back together, he let his body take control while his mind was filled with all the sensations her skin provided. He felt a need fill him unlike anything he ever felt as he let his mouth drift to her neck and the small space on her upper chest left exposed by her shirt. Her hands grasped at his shoulders while he explored the new skin.

"Brynjolf," she whispered when he finally returned to her lips. "I think I'm ready."

"Are you sure, Alor?" he asked, kissing the line of her chin softly. "I can wait."

She nodded at him to go further, want and fear filling her eyes. Brynjolf hesitated, not wanting his own desires to get in the way of what was best. _Talos, help me,_ he thought as he decided to listen to her words and quickly moved to discard the remainder of their clothes.

Brynjolf couldn't help but look at her for a few moments, taking in the long, jagged scar on her side that still was pink and fresh. He brought his lips to her lean, muscular stomach and kissed a strange set of scars that almost looked like some giant animal had bitten her. Moving up to her face, he kissed her softly while letting their bodies come together. He felt exhilaration sweep through his body at the feel of her, kissing her deeply as he began his small movements.

Looking up, he saw tears filling her eyes. "Should I stop?" he asked, his face turning into a worried frown.

"No. It's fine." She said, wiping her face and throwing her arms around his back. He watched as she closed her eyes before starting up again. He continued to kiss her, whispering how beautiful she was in her ear, hoping that whatever memories caused the tears would be driven out. It was only a short while before he felt all of his built up passion break free from the barrier he had locked it behind, his body shaking as he moved to her side and stared up at the ceiling, a sense of contentment washing over him.

Alor sighed, her breathing a choppy mix somewhere between excitement and sadness. Rolling over, she rested her head on his chest, Brynjolf smiling as her little hands wrapped around his thick torso. "Alor?" he whispered, kissing her head. "Was that too fast?"

"No." she said, keeping whatever thoughts she had to herself.

He kissed her again, pulling a large fur over them before wrapping her in his arms. He watched as her breathing became deep and regular, her face relaxing only as it could when she slept. His heart felt fuller than it had in his entire life as he held the little elf he had just bonded with intimately. It was different than just the quick romps he had had with other girls. He actually cared about this one. Shutting his eyes, he smiled. _Talos, I've fallen._


	23. The Third Job

**Chapter 22**

Brynjolf was already awake when Alor opened her eyes. He was smiling at her, his hair a tangled mess and a growth of stubble running across his chin. She smiled at him as he leaned in to kiss her, the gentleness becoming something that she expected from him.

"Did you sleep well, lass?" he asked, his hands moving across her skin.

"The best I think I ever have." She replied, honestly. Rising up, she quickly began to dress, ignoring the feeling of Brynjolf staring. "We should get back."

She heard Brynjolf sigh from behind her and move from the bed. "I suppose you're right, even if it's not what I want to do."

"You? Not wanting to return to the Guild? You live and breathe for the Guild!" she said in surprise, causing him to chuckle.

"Maybe, lass, I found something better to live and breathe for." He said with a significant look.

Alor felt the heat rise in her face as a smile crossed it. "Do you really mean that?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Of course I do." He said, moving towards her and pulling her into his arms. "I just hope that last night wasn't too hard on you."

"It wasn't." she lied, unable to meet his eyes. He didn't seem to notice, though, as he kissed her and began to lead the way back through the ratway. Alor was happy that he was content with being silent on their journey as she tried to ignore the sickened feeling in her stomach. It wasn't because of Brynjolf, it was just the intimacy itself. She truly had thought she was ready, that she could handle it, but the moment they took the next step in their relationship all of her nightmares came back to her. She saw every single face, heard their voices, recalled their scents. It was horrible, but Brynjolf seemed so happy. She didn't want to ruin it for him.

"It's going to be hard to act like I'm not seeing you." Brynjolf whispered as they approached the door. "Especially after last night."

Alor smiled and kissed him before putting on her mask. "You're a brilliant liar, you'll do fine."

"I think you are over confident in my abilities." He said, just as a roar of laughter was heard on the other side of the door. His face wrinkled as he frowned. "Why don't you go in first and I'll follow you in a few minutes."

She gave his hand a final squeeze before slipping through the door and sneaking her way past the few thieves that sat in the Flagon. The cistern was fairly empty with only Mercer working at his desk and Niruin snoring loudly in his bed. The little assassin smiled at his paling color and soft cough he would give occasionally.

_I should give him another dose_, she thought, unsure if he had drank the entire flask of water that she had poisoned the night before. Quietly, she grabbed the small bottle with the first poison and opened it carefully. Glancing over to make sure Mercer wasn't watching, she moved her hand over Niruin's open mouth and flicked in a few drops. Resealing the bottle, she hid it away and relaxed just as she heard Mercer call out for Brynjolf.

"I'm right here, Mercer." The Nord answered, walking into the cistern.

She could hear the Breton grumble something, but was too far away to make out what he said. "Where have you been?" he said louder, his voice echoing across the empty room.

"Out."

Silence settled for a moment, Alor glancing over at the pair, watching them whisper heatedly. Mercer made many sharp motions, his index finger poking into Brynjolf's chest. She felt an anger rise in her against the hateful man. Stirring from where she had sat unseen, the two men looked at her with very different emotions.

"Lass, come over here." Brynjolf said, his tone harsh but his eyes apologetic.

Alor approached the small desk Mercer often occupied, her anger outweighing her fear of the man who was in many ways like her father. "What?"

"Watch your tone, lass, and listen" Brynjolf said sternly, the emotion not reaching his eyes. "It appears someone is trying to take us down by driving a wedge between Maven and the Guild. Mercer thinks he knows a way to identify this new thorn in our side, don't you Mercer?"

"I do." The Breton hissed, his face becoming red and his eyes bulging a little while he clenched his jaw. "Even if none of my contacts can identify that symbol you recovered from Goldenglow Estate. It would seem our adversary is being clever and trying to take us apart indirectly by angering Maven Black-Briar. Our nemesis is going to pay dearly." He finished, the hatred the man felt for the unknown enemy flashing from his dark eyes.

"How? You don't even know who they are." Alor said, getting an angry stare that made her heart jump slightly.

"Because," Mercer smiled darkly, "Even after all their posturing and planning, they've made a mistake."

"What was that?" Brynjolf asked, taking the Bretons attention away from the elf.

"Well, Brynjolf, the parchment the girl recovered mentions a 'Gajul-Lei'. According to my sources, that's an old alias used by one of our contacts. His real name is Gulum-Ei, you may remember him."

"Aye, I do." Brynjolf answered. "He's our contact into the East Empire Company in Solitude."

"Yes, he's a slimy bastard." Mercer said, spitting into the corner. "I'm betting he acted as a go-between for the sale of Goldenglow Estate and that he can finger our buyer." Turning back to Alor, he gave her a sickly smile that sent her skin crawling. "Since you seem to be having all the success around here lately this is your job."

"You want me to go to Solitude?" she asked in surprise, ideas turning in her mind at the lucky opportunities the job would provide.

"Yes! Get out there, shake Gulum-Ei down, and see what you come up with." Mercer exclaimed. "Is it that hard that I have to spell it out for you?"

"Mercer, calm down. She was just asking a question." Brynjolf stepped in.

"Fine, you answer her stupid questions. I don't have time for this. Just get the job done."

"Come with me, lass. Let's leave Mercer to his work." He said coldly, giving the Breton a dark look before they walked off. "I can't believe that argonian is mixed up in all of this. He couldn't find his tail with both hands."

"Yet you use him as an inside man for the East Empire Company?" Alor asked.

"Don't get me wrong, he could scam a beggar out of his last septim, but he's no mastermind. Besides that, he's one of the most stubborn lizards I've ever met. You have your work cut out for you. I'm sorry I can't come with you, Alor. Mercer is adamant I stay and work here."

"That's fine, Brynjolf. I should be back in a weeks time."

"Just buy Gulum-Ei off. That's the only way to get his attention. If that fails, follow him and see what he's up to. If I know Gulum-Ei, he's in way over his head and you'll be able to use it as leverage." Brynjolf instructed. "And do it fast. I am already not liking the idea of you going so far by yourself. Especially not after what happened the last time you left."

"I'm not going to start any fights I can't win this time." Alor said, grabbing his hand and giving it a small squeeze.

"Good. Go pack what you need and I'll see you out of the city." He finished giving her a worried smile.

Alor didn't wait to be told twice. Moving to her bed she methodically organized her few possessions, ideas swirling about her head. _Cicero is in Solitude, I'll need him if I'm going to convince the others to bring back the role of Speaker,_ she thought as began to sharpen her knives. There hadn't been Speakers in generations due to the declining health of the Brotherhood. Yet, the little elf had read extensively about the organization in the days of her long dead ancestor, Banus Alor, and understood that with Speakers around the only critical duty for the Listener would be to listen. The Speakers would assign the contracts as they saw fit, leaving her out of the equation so long as she wanted. It would provide her the freedom to kill when she saw fit and devote the remainder of her time to something else.

_It's the only way I will be able to keep Brynjolf,_ she told herself resolutely as she gently rubbed a slow acting poison on one of her blades. She let her mind wander to Brynjolf and his strong chin, kind eyes, and devoted soul. She couldn't imagine how his family could throw him away as they did at the words of a stupid, lying girl. _She will regret that decision_, the assassin thought darkly as she felt the point of her blade. _Oh, she will regret it!_

Strapping the knives across her chest, she grabbed the bottle of Niruin's poison and swiftly dumped half its contents into the various glasses and health potions sitting on the table by his bed. She then dumped an additional seven drops into his still wide-open mouth. _Not as Babette instructed, but it will have to do_, she thought, hoping the affects of the poison wouldn't wear off before she returned and started the next poison to progress his _illness_.

Feeling prepared, she made her way back to where Brynjolf sat fidgeting with something. "I'm ready." Alor said, her mask already in place and hood up.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stood. "I really wish you weren't going, lass." he said, his voice holding some of the anxiety that shone from his eyes.

"It will only be a few days." She reassured him as they moved towards the stairs that would take them to the small Riften cemetery. "Besides, I have something to rush back to."

Brynjolf smiled at her, slowing his steps to prolong reaching the gates. "I have something for you." The Nord said suddenly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, silver ring. "It's suppose to bring the wearer luck and health."

Alor took the little ring from his hand and held it close to her face. Even in the dim morning light she was able to see the fine craftsmanship that went into making the trinket. Slipping it onto her index finger she couldn't help but smile. "It's beautiful, Brynjolf!"

"You like it, then?" he asked, his hand automatically going to his hair.

"I love it!" she said, pulling her mask off so she could give him a small peck on the lips.

Brynjolf grinned happily at the elf, his eyes sparkling at her enthusiasm. "Just promise me you'll come back soon and you'll be safe."

"I will." She swore, letting him pull her into a tight embrace. "I won't be long."

"Good. Now get going before Mercer gets angrier than what he already is!"

Alor laughed and let him kiss her goodbye before starting up a quick pace out of Riften. The exercise felt good on her tight muscles. _Perhaps if I have time, I'll even stop by Ivarstead and take care of my remaining contracts_, she thought happily, the bright sun and warm summer air keeping her spirits high. For such fine weather, the roads were surprisingly empty. Finally, after three hours worth of walking before a mounted guard slowly rode into view, lazily making his daily rounds. He was the first living thing she had encountered since leaving the city, making them utterly alone on the lonely Skyrim mountains. The listener smiled as she pulled two knives from her chest. Riding to Solitude would make the journey go so much faster...


	24. Revenge in Proxy

**AN: A little violent in this one.**

**Chapter 23**

Gulum-Ei had been easy to find. He was even easier to threaten. One day into being in Solitude, Alor had found the conniving lizard, threw him against a wall, and put one of the points of her knives to his eye. Everything became really easy then. The Argonian cried about how he was going to tell Mercer everything about the mysterious enemy, eventually whimpering out the name Karliah. Who this Karliah was, didn't really matter to Alor, but she was interested in where to find her. Unfortunately, the lizard only was told that she was going to _where the end began_.

"Useless." She muttered over her dinner. It took all of her will power to let the lizard go unharmed as Brynjolf wanted. _Yet, things are looking up!_ She thought excitedly as she heard a familiar voice ring over the crowd.

"Yes, yes! Cicero will dance for only five gold!" the jester squealed from across the tavern.

The Listener watched him from her corner take the jabs and jeers of the crowd, accepting the gold of a few children to do stupid tricks for laughs. She was always amazed at how frightfully happy he could make his face look when doing his stunts, especially knowing how ruthless he could be on a contract. She smiled into her plate, taking one last bite before reclasping her mask and silently weaving her way towards the jester.

Standing in the shadowed corner, she watched as he turned in circles, singing some sort of ridiculous song. _Look over here,_ she thought, her red eyes locked on his spinning form. On the fifth revolution, she caught his eye, making his smile grow even larger. With a subtle gesture, she motioned for him to meet her outside and took her leave of the noisy tavern.

The night had cooled, but it felt good after the stuffy heat of one of Solitude's dirtier inns. _Luckily it's not hard to locate the only jester in Skyrim,_ she thought as she waited for the Imperial Keeper to make his way out. Moving out of direct sight of any of the guards, it was another hour before the door to the inn banged shut and a slight jingling noise was heard.

"Oh, Listener!" Cicero's voice rang out softly, his hands beating out a few claps. "Where are you hiding from poor Cicero?"

"Over here." She said from behind a row of bushes.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet, Listener! I'm so happy you've let me come out and play in this city! They never let poor Cicero play in Cheydinhal, even though Mother never minded."

"Cicero, listen." She said impatiently, ignoring his jabbering. "I need your help with something."

"Ouu! Is it a contract?" he asked gleefully, his dark eyes brightening with the thought.

"It's personal." The Listener answered darkly, causing the jester to clap with excitement.

"A personal task from the Listener! You honor little, old Cicero!"

"I need to find Freya Firebeard. Do you think you can figure out where she lives?" the elf asked, grabbing the jesters clapping hands to silence him.

"Firebeard, you say? Oh Cicero already knows where they all live."

"Where?"

The jester smiled brightly at her and laughed for a moment. "In the Blue Palace, of course!"

"Isn't that just Elisif's steward, Falk?" she asked impatiently. "I need Freya."

"Oh she lives there too! Quiet the scandal, Cicero heard. Married her sweet, dead husband's cousin, Falk. How the ladies talk, talk, talk!"

_Married her husband's cousin?_ Alor thought, disgust rising in her. _The Blue Palace means lots of guards and servants too_. She had planned to do the killing alone, as was her custom, but the Blue Palace changed everything. She would need extra hands in case things got loud.

"Then we will go to the Palace, tonight." She said, rising from where she stood. "We'll sneak into their bed chamber. I will kill her and her husband and you are in charge of killing anyone who gets in the way."

Cicero clapped wildly. "Oh, Listener! This will be so much fun! Cicero always wanted to kill someone with Mother's chosen one."

"Yes, well, once we're done we'll go back to Dawnstar. I need to speak with the Mother about something."

"Oh yes, yes, yes! Cicero has missed mother these last two weeks!"

"Act as a Silencer, Keeper, and be quiet on this task." The Listener commanded, feeling her patience wearing thin for the ridiculous nature of the jester. Cicero grumbled something but fell into submission, following the Listener to the Blue Palace in silence.

Alor hated the palace, having been there often as the Dragonborn. It was yet another place where people were constantly needing something to be done and placing it onto her shoulders. Sneaking towards the door and deftly picking the lock, she considered how easy it would be to run her blade through the soft skin of some of the other courtiers that had been especially demanding and demeaning all those years ago. _You came here for Brynjolf,_ she reminded herself, calming the growing desire.

Sneaking in, she looked to Cicero to point her towards the correct rooms. Freya and Falk occupied one of the lower level bedrooms, making it easier to get to. Approaching the door, the Listener signaled for Cicero to stop and wait. "Kill any who pass." She whispered, receiving an enthusiastic nod in return. Turning from the eager jester, she slowly turned the knob and slipped into the dark room.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the blackness as no torches or candles burned in the windowless room. _Not very impressive_, she thought as she took in the moderately expensive furnishing. Gliding towards the bed, she ignored the familiar face of Falk, his red hair brighter in color than Brynjolf's and his chin smaller, but otherwise she could see the family resemblance. Freya, was light in coloring, blonde hair and pale skin. _The blood will stand out beautifully on her,_ the assassin smiled as she pulled out a poisoned blade.

_Too bad it will be so quick_, she thought, gently pricking the skin of Freya and then Falk with her blade just enough to poison them but not hard enough to wake them. She had wanted to make the woman suffer and scream for what she did to Brynjolf, but time and location was not on her side. Instead, Alor decided on humiliation would do better. A woman as vain and false as Freya would be hurt far more by the gossip of the courtiers than anything Alor could do. "May your ghost forever be plagued by what they say." She whispered as their muscles slowly paralyzed under the effects of the poison.

_Now to just wait_, she thought impatiently, her veins pumping loudly as her excitement grew. They would both feel pain, but would be unable to move thanks to the little concoction Babette had come up with. Alor would be able to work on them without the concern of them fighting back or running away. They would be entirely at her mercy, just as she liked it. Unfortunately, the torture would be short lived with the poison, but the Listener was satisfied that it would be long enough that Freya's dying memory would be of what the assassin was doing to her.

After a few minutes of quiet waiting, Alor finally noticed the stiffening of the large muscles of their arms and legs. _It's time_. Gripping a clean knife, she moved towards Freya's pretty little head. With two clean moves, she forced the woman's mouth open and sliced off her tongue. Bursts of red gushed into Freya's delicate throat as she woke, choking and screaming but barely able to move.

"Quiet!" the Listener ordered as Falk woke to the noise and found himself in a similar predicament. Alor threw the woman's mutilated tongue at him, ignoring their screams. Outside the door, she heard a feminine voice call out followed by a loud thud, marking Cicero's first kill. _Good, _she thought as she reached between Falk's legs and sliced savagely.

The steward screamed, his muscles frantically trying to move against the poison. "Perhaps if you didn't marry such a _whore_ this wouldn't have happened." The Listener snapped, shoving his dismembered part into Freya's mouth.

"Stop crying, whore." Alor spat as the woman tried to spit out her husband's member. "You deserve so much worse than this."

"HELP!" Falk screamed out, another thud hitting the door followed by a gargled scream. The Listener laughed, a sense of power rising in her as she ripped open his wife's dress and pushed the blade to her skin.

"It's time the world learned what you are." Alor sang, carving a rude symbol into the woman's stomach. Freya choked and sputtered on her own blood and the fleshy gag, her breathing becoming irregular with fright and the slow action of the poison. "You're a whore and liar!"

"Please, don't do this!" Falk cried out weakly, his jaw muscles stiffening steadily.

"She must pay for what she did." The Listener hissed, taking her knife and thrusting it violently into Freya's fleshy mounds, the soft crunching of metal on her ribs sending a jolt of pleasure through Alor's body.

"She didn't do anything!" Falk pled, his voice becoming smaller as death was slowly lulling him to sleep.

"Then you forget your cousin, Brynjolf." She replied, her blade moving to Freya's eyes. The woman shuddered, her body going completely rigid and still as death took her. Her husband followed her only a minute later. A surge of pride and happiness filled the Listener as she stared at their lifeless bodies. _Too bad I couldn't carve 'whore' into her disgusting body_, she thought as a few muffled cries and a thud came from outside.

Wiping her blades on their bed sheets, she left them completely exposed in their foul marital bed. There would be no mercy by covering them. Freya was an immoral whore to the Listener. She did not deserve modesty and would be discovered as she was now; Naked, without a tongue, and her husband's manhood deep in her throat.

Alor smiled in contentment with the small piece of revenge she was able to extract for her fiery Nord, yet her soul was not yet satisfied. Moving outside the door, she found Cicero standing on the corpses of a maid and two soldiers, his face eager for more.

_This was easier than I thought_, she mused as she motioned for the jester to follow her. Her heart began to beat wildly as she moved up the curving stone steps, her soul awakened and desiring more blood, more death, more power. Her mind traveled to the condescending Bolgeir Bearclaw and what he would look like begging for mercy. A rush of exhilaration passed through her as she moved towards the upper level bedrooms, Cicero in tow. _Perhaps I will pay a visit to a few more friends tonight_…


	25. Revelations

**Chapter 24**

Alor had been gone for a little over a week when Brynjolf received two very strange letters. The first he assumed was from the little Dunmer as it only contained a roughly drawn face with a large smile. The courier had told him that the sender wore and mask and had instructed him to tell the red-haired Nord that she would be another week or so. Brynjolf had rewarded the man generously.

The second letter came the following day. Brynjolf had been at his stall in the market making some very easy coin on an inexperienced adventurer when the courier approached him. He had been confused when the man slipped him a heavily sealed envelope, the crest belonging to the family his younger sister had married into. Yet, the confusion that filled him upon seeing the envelope was nothing compared to what the letter contained.

That night, sitting in the Bee and Barb, he stared at the tiny, looping script with a sense of joy, sorrow, and confusion. Brynjolf read the letter over and over, the words already memorized yet still seeming so incomprehensible. Opening it yet again, he silently reread the short note one more time.

_Dearest Brother,_

_I hope this finds you well. Our sister-in-law and cousin have found their way to Sovngarde. With their passing and mother's nearly six years ago, I fear that we are all that's left of the Firebeards. _

_I have attempted to locate you on many occasions, but I have only heard whispers. My hope is that by employing a less than savory person I might actually be able to reach you. Perhaps, if you are still alive and this letter finds you, we could become reacquainted as brother and sister. _

_Anna_

"Anna," he whispered happily, tears coming to his eyes as he let his fingers touch the delicate writing. "You finally wrote me."

"I'm sorry it took so long." Came a soft, gentle voice from behind him. Turning around quickly, he saw a slender woman with delicate blue eyes. Her hair had darkened from the flaming shade she had as a child, but Brynjolf recognized his sister immediately.

"Anna! What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, jumping from his seat and giving her a strong hug which she tentatively returned.

"I followed my courier. He seemed to know just who you were and where to find you." She said. "Which was rather shocking since all of my regular couriers seemed completely unable to find even a trace of your name."

"That's because I don't go by it anymore." Brynjolf answered easily. "Who was your lad, today? I didn't recognize him as someone I knew."

"Just some urchin." Anna replied, taking the seat across from her brother. "What do you call yourself these days?"

"Brynjolf." He said with a smile.

Anna smiled, her face flowing into what he remembered her looking like as a child. "Great-Grandfather's name. A fine choice, I'm sure."

"It's done well for me." He said leaning back. "I came to your wedding, you know. Sat where no one would see me."

Her eyebrow rose slightly as a frown crossed her lips. "Did you now? My husband would be mortified to know how lax the security was."

"I couldn't miss your wedding, Anna. You're the only one that ever believed me."

"Yes, I did believe you." She said, her eyes drifting towards the table. "You were my big brother, you would never be capable of hurting someone, or at least that's what I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sorry she's dead, _Brynjolf_, believe me. She spent our family fortune and nearly left us in ruin. Then she goes and has an affair with Falk and gets pregnant again, forcing a very scandalous marriage onto our family name. It was all very bad business, but the way they died was even worse." She finished, giving him a hard look.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about the fact that she had male genitalia carved into her stomach and her tongue ripped out. She practically choked on her own blood and Falk's…_member_." She finished, her eyes still hard despite the blush that rose to her cheeks.

"What?" he gasped sharply. "They were murdered?"

"In their bed in the Blue Palace, as you very well know." She finished sternly.

"Wait a moment, Anna. You think _I_ had something to do with that?" he asked, in shock. "I didn't even know she was remarried and had another child, let alone where to find her! Besides, I would never, ever kill someone out of revenge. You of all people should know that."

"I thought I did, but this all seems a little too personal to ignore."

"Maybe she had other lovers." Brynjolf said angrily. "Here I was, thinking that you actually came to see me because you missed me. Why don't you just go home to your rich husband and leave me to peddle my potions."

Anna's face shifted from anger to hurt at the cold look Brynjolf gave her. "I-I'm sorry." She said, shifting uncomfortably in the wooden chair. "I did –do want to see you. I'm just overwhelmed with all the gossip right now. It's bad for our family name to have something so _gruesome_ happen."

"Yes, well, the name will survive it. It survived disowning a fifteen year old boy at the call of some _trollip_." He spat. "But that's not my concern. I haven't had the _burden_ of being a Firebeard for many, many years."

"That's not my fault." Anna said defensively. "I was only twelve when that happened. What was I suppose to do about."

"Say something!" he yelled, getting a few strange looks from the others in the tavern. "You could have told our mother the truth, that I was with you that night."

"You know I couldn't."

"Oh, that's right, because that would mean admitting that you were with that servant boy, kissing down by the lake." He said darkly. "Well, Anna, I'm done getting mixed up in _your_ family's messes. I've already paid the price for that once. I had nothing to do with Freya's death or Falk's. I hope that you can clear it up so the other ladies in Solitude will stop making your life so miserable." He finished, rising from his seat.

"R-Brynjolf, wait!" she started, following him to the door. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I swear, I really did want to see you! We're family!"

"No. My family lives in the ratway." He hissed, storming from the tavern and towards the Guild.

It wasn't until he was lying in his bed that the sadness hit him. He had seen Anna, his little Anna! She had been the world to him growing-up and had been in his thoughts often as an adult. Only in his dreams did she ever come find him, but in those she was kind and happy to see him rather than accusing and seeking someone to blame her problems on.

"Why did you have to come and blame something like that on me?" he wondered aloud, the description of Freya and Falk's deaths making his stomach turn. He had to agree that the murders did seem awfully personal. _And if there were no other lovers, I would be a likely candidate_, the thought darkly. The whole thing didn't sit well with him.

He stared at the ceiling for a long time, regretting his behavior towards his sister for a few minutes before his righteous anger would return and justify his actions. _That damned Freya destroying things in my life even with her death_, he thought bitterly. He hadn't thought about the vile woman in years and then he tells Alor about her and…

"Alor!" he said, sitting straight up. _I told Alor about Freya last week,_ he thought uneasily, _and she's in Solitude_…

Brynjolf groaned, his voice echoing over the quiet cistern. Rising from bed, he moved quickly towards the cistern exit and clambered out into the cool night air. "She couldn't have done that. Not Alor, she's not a murderer." He said, pacing the worn cemetery grass as his mind spun.

_But what about the madman under Honningbrew_? The thought came out of no where, followed by the memory of how deftly she had crept behind the man and pushed her blade into his throat without hesitation. _Like she had done it before_, he thought, sinking to the ground as a wave of nausea hit him.

"Oh, lass, what did you do?" he said to the night sky, sickness and disgust washing over him. _Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe it's all just a coincidence_, he thought wishfully. Yet, the more he thought about Alor, the way she dressed, how she acted, even what occurred when she was injured, Brynjolf became more and more convinced that the deaths of his sister-in-law and cousin did not just happen to occur while the little elf was in Solitude.

Another wave of nausea swept through him, this time making him sick. His stomach cramped while his body moved all of the mead he had just drank out onto the grass. Wiping the water that had filled his eyes, he swallowed back the burning taste in his throat and stood on shaky legs. He felt a deep ache in his heart while an empty feeling filled him.

Alor was a murderer and she had killed members of his family out of some sick form of vengeance for him. His stomach churned at the thought, "I'm responsible for their deaths." He groaned, his hands pulling at his hair. "If I hadn't said anything to her they would still be alive."

Moving back towards the cistern, he decided he had to be sure. _Delvin knows something_, he thought. _He can tell me if I've just gone mad or if she really is a...murderer._

He walked unevenly into the Guild, ignoring the small coughs that rang out from Niruin's bed. He had been nursing the boy, trying to break his fever, but at the moment he didn't care. He could focus on nothing else but hopefully dispelling the infectious idea that had grown in him. He wanted so badly to believe that it was lies, but considering the warnings Delvin had given him, Brynjolf knew deep down that his eyes had been opened to an ugly truth.

"Delvin!" he called out when he reached the Flagon.

The Breton looked up at him with a smile, which immediately fell from his face when he looked at the Nord. "Brynjolf, what's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you. Alone." He said, eyeing the nearby Vex, Vekel, and Dirge.

"Alright." He answered as the others rose noisily and made to leave. The two men stared at each other until the sound of the door to the cistern closed and an eerie silence fell over the ratway tavern. "What's this about?"

"Tell me what you know about Alor." Brynjolf said sternly, pacing about the Flagon in his distress. "Everything you know, Delvin."

"You don't know what you're asking." The Breton said quietly, avoiding looking the Guild second in the eye.

"Try me." Brynjolf said, stopping abruptly in his pacing and staring at his friend in agony.

Delvin looked at the Nord for a moment before his face fell. "How did you find out?"

"I don't know what I found out, Del. You tell me! Who is she?"

Delvin let one of his hands travel to the back of his head, his fingers noisily scraping against his short hair. "She's Brotherhood, Bryn."

The words hit him hard. Brynjolf felt his legs wobble before he sunk to the ground, a low, troubling groan escaping his lips. "Why didn't you say anything?" he managed to whisper as all of his feelings he had for her became tainted and tangled with revelation.

"Other than she said she would kill me?" Delvin replied with a snort, "Guess it seemed she was turning over a new leaf, as it were. She didn't kill anyone, so after a while I thought she might be done with that business."

"So you've dealt with her before?" he asked, his hands gripping his hair so tightly that it brought tears to his eyes.

"Only once, after my friend in the Brotherhood died." Delvin answered honestly. "It was after the Legion attacked them, you remember, when they claimed they wiped the Brotherhood out? Well, your elf comes to me and says that they have a new sanctuary and bought some things off me. I only did it out of Astrid's memory. Then she comes walking in down here, I mention to her that I remembered her and she threatens to cut me to bits if I talk. That's all I know."

"Where's the sanctuary?"

"No, Brynjolf." Delvin said sharply. "You're not in your right mind. You don't want to know where that place is or ever go near it."

"Tell me!" he yelled, his voice holding all the horrible emotions that he was feeling.

"No." Delvin said standing. "If she did something that made you find out about her it means she's not as inactive as I thought. She's dangerous, Brynjolf, and I'm not going to be responsible for you getting yourself killed."

Brynjolf rose to his feet, staring daggers at the man. "Fine." He hissed. "I have an idea of where she is, anyways."

"Don't go, Brynjolf!" Delvin called out as the Nord moved towards the ratway. "It won't end good!"

Brynjolf ignored his friend, his mind set on one thing; Find Alor and confront her. What he would do after that, he didn't know, but it was better than sitting around in the Guild waiting for her to come back. Moving out into Riften and quickly taking the northern gate, he began the long walk to Dawnstar to get the answers he so desperately needed.


	26. Test of the Night Mother

**Chapter 25**

It had been three days since she and Cicero killed fifteen people in the Blue Palace and made their way back to Dawnstar. The Sanctuary was quiet without Nazir and his recruits. Alor was glad for it since she had many things to discuss with the Night Mother. She had ignored Babette's chatter and Cicero's ravings, locking herself in with the skeletal lady, demanding names

The first day the Night Mother had answered her immediately, demanding the reason to reinstate the Black Hand. Alor hadn't known what to say other than it would bring added glory to the Brotherhood and allow for further recruiting. The Night Mother had seemed pleased and immediately named Babette. Yet, since that time she remained silent, ignoring the Listener's pleas to speak the remaining three names.

"Night Mother, please!" Alor tried again, staring up at the lifeless corpse. "There must be three others."

No answer came but the loud noises of her stomach. She hadn't left the feet of the corpse since arriving, not even for food or drink. As if sensing the Listener's ignored hunger, a knock sounded on the door followed by Babette's sweet child voice. "You will need to eat at some point. You might as well let me in."

Alor sighed and rose to her feet. "Fine." She said, thrusting the lock open.

"I know what you're asking for." Babette said, handing a plate and cup towards the elf. "And I have to wonder why you seem so consumed with rebuilding a long dead hierarchy. The Brotherhood has done fine this last century or so without the Black Hand."

Alor greedily took the food, swallowing a large bite of meat into her mouth before answering. "Because we need to be feared again. Centuries ago no one would have dared attack the Brotherhood like they did here."

The little vampire frowned, putting her hands on her hips in a very adult fashion. "You've already brought the fear back, Listener. Half of Skyrim heard of what you did to that boy in Whiterun, while the rest are talking about your work in Solitude. I doubt anyone takes us lightly anymore."

"But we need more." Alor said flatly. "If I were to die where would the Brotherhood be? Back to waiting for gossip to carry the news of someone performing the Black Sacrament? We lose all of our secrecy when we don't have our traditions."

"And there is no other reason you wish for the names of the Speakers?" Babette pressed.

"None that concern you."

"And there it is!" Babette sang out, her child eyes dancing dangerously. "I just knew there was something else! What is it? Are you tired of taking contracts?"

"No!" the Listener exclaimed. "It's nothing like that."

"Then what?"

"We just need more people so that we don't have to do every single simple contract and can spend time doing other things."

The girl looked at her for a moment before letting her bell-like laughter fill the room. "You've enjoyed stealing! Don't deny it!" she said holding up a hand. "By the way you are blushing I can see it's true. That is fine, Listener, I understand. Just don't expect Nazir to be happy about what you are getting the Night Mother to do. He is not as flexible as I am to change."

"Well, I've only been given one name so far." Alor admitted, looking back at the Night Mother. "She refuses to give me more."

"Who is the first of the four fingers?" Babette asked.

"You." Alor said with a shrug, causing the girl to smile.

"I had hoped." She said happily. "Continue to listen. She will speak when she is ready."

"I will." Alor said, watching the vampire leave her to the silence of the Night Mother. With a sigh she turned back to the mummified corpse, willing it to speak. "Just three more names, Mother. Please, that's all I need and we will grow strong again."

"I can see beyond your words, child." The Mother's voice came suddenly, filling Alor's ears with a cold tingle.

"What do you mean?" she called out nervously.

"You ask for reasons other than the good of the Brotherhood. I require devotion from my Listener."

"But, Mother –"

"SILENCE!" the corpse's voice rang out. "You will not get your three names until you complete another contract. If you carry it out and still wish for the others I would choose, you will have their names."

The Listener's heart began to thump wildly, hope rising in her after days of no response. "Give me the name and I will carry it out, Mother."

"This death has been desired by many, but finally one has come willing to pay what Sithis requires. Speak to Harrald Law-Giver and carry out his desire. Once this is done, speak to me again."

The Night Mother's voice flitted away, leaving an odd buzzing in Alor's head. _Harrald Law-Giver is in Riften_, she thought happily. "Then I am off."

"And Just when I'm getting back?" came Nazir's voice from the doorway. "What a shame."

"Hello, Nazir. How was the west?"

"Quiet good. Lost a recruit, but picked up two more. What's this I hear about you looking to reinstate Speakers."

"I am." Alor said hesitantly. "But she will not give me the names until I complete a contract."

"Shame." He said dryly.

"It's for the best, Nazir." She said, slipping on her mask. "Return the Brotherhood to it's glory and allow us to branch out once more."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it will give you and that clown more power over the rest of us."

"I have no power over you." She said, tightening her knives to her chest. "You can take what ever contracts you please as long as you take what the Night Mother gives too."

"That's what you say, but the problem is I don't get approached with jobs anymore. People have come to realize that by doing the Sacrament their prayers are answered without needing to seek anyone out. It's bad for my business."

"Then take up a hobby." She snapped, looking at the Redguard with impatience.

"Hmm, that's what you've done I see. Stealing must be rewarding, you barely spend any time back here with the rest of us."

"You and Babette are the ones who came up with this plan, Nazir." Alor hissed, moving towards the exit. "Not me."

"No, but we also didn't think you would like it as much as you do." He laughed dryly. "Go on, go back to your little rats and have fun. Just don't expect me to be happy that you're making decisions without speaking to the rest of us."

"Good-bye, Nazir." She said, climbing out the secrete entrance. All was quiet around Dawnstar when she carefully shut the disguised door to the Sanctuary. Looking around, she gave a low whistle and waited. It wasn't long before the sound of hooves were heard approaching, quickly followed by two, glowing red eyes. "Shadowmere." She whispered as the dark stead slowed. "We need to reach Riften tonight." She said, her mind going to the fiery Nord she had not seen in nearly two weeks. "Then you can slumber once more."

The horse snorted and kicked its leg up impatiently. "Good." Alor said, patting the horse's side before leaping on. "Let's go."

Shadowmere snorted again before turning back towards the wilderness and charging ahead. Alor trusted the horse to avoid anything perilous and rode without a sound. She let her body automatically move with his strong strides, easing his motions through small adjustments in her posture. Night flashed by along with the northern landscape. As the first rays of dawn could be seen to the east the gates of Riften rose up on the horizon.

"Whoa." She said lightly as they got within a short walk of the walls surrounding the city. "That's good, Shadowmere. I will walk."

The horse slowed to a stop and allowed the Listener to slip off his back. She patted him again before lightly slapping his flank, sending him darting back off into the wilderness to find his slumber with Sithis until called again.

_Now to find Harrald_, she thought, jogging up to the city gate and slipping in without a word to the guards. She doubted the Jarl or her children would be awake at this hour, which suited her fine. She just had to slip into the Harrald's room and get a name and the gold. Then it would be the simple matter of killing the person and returning to the Guild and to Brynjolf.

Her heart raced with impatience as she entered Mistveil Keep and wandered through the shadows to the nobleman's room. She was surprised by how sparsely guarded the Jarl's family was, especially considering the corruption of the city. _Either they are very naïve or they are not fully in control of the guards,_ she thought, deciding it was most likely the latter. The Law-Givers seemed to have little real power with Riften being in the pocket of the Black-Briars. It would not be far fetched for Maven to have her influence on the guards.

No matter the reason, it didn't matter. Alor only wanted to get in and out as fast as possible. The less guards there were the easier it was. _Now to see who he wants dead._

Slipping towards the bed, she lightly placed her gloved hand over the sleeping Nord's mouth and then tapped him awake. As expected, he gave out a little shout, which she quickly muffled and motioned with her finger to keep silent. The man complied, fear filling his eyes as the Listener slowly drew her hand back.

"Who are you?" Harrald demanded, pulling the covers up higher on his body as if that would protect him from danger.

"You prayed for me." The assassin said darkly, her red eyes narrowing with impatience.

"Your with the Br-Brotherhood?" he asked, receiving only a nod as an answer. "Oh." He said with relief, letting the blankets fall back down to his waist.

The Listener stood and watched the man, waiting for him to tell her what she needed. The silence drug out for several seconds before the Nord realized that he was suppose to talk.

"I have three thousand gold." He said, eagerly leaving his bed and opening a chest that sat on the wall. "It's yours if you kill Maven Black-Briar."

"What?"

"I'm hiring you to Kill Maven Black-Briar. I want you to cut out her heart." He said again, his voice gaining confidence with every word.

The Listener stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do. _Maven is just another woman, she won't be hard to kill_, she told herself, pushing aside all the small protests her mind was making. It didn't matter that Maven supported the Guild, it didn't matter that many of the jobs Brynjolf was able to give out to the thieves were directly related to the Black-Briars. None of that would get her the names of the speakers and free up her obligations so she could be with the Nord. That was what mattered. That, and the Night Mother gave her this contract as a test to see if she was completely loyal to the Brotherhood. Alor would carry it out.

Stepping forward, she took the bag of gold and gave the man a nod. Slipping out into the darkness of Riften she decided to not waste any time. Moving towards the market, she opened up Brand-Shei's stand and hid her gold underneath. The Dunmer merchant still hadn't been released from jail and had already had his strongbox plundered. It was the safest place to hide anything in a city full of thieves.

That being done, she quickly snuck towards the Black-Briar family manor, she waited until the guards had passed twice to get a feel for how long the house was left unmonitored. _Not very long, at all_, she thought as she moved in front of the lock and just barely managed to pick it in the short three-minute period she had. "Thank Sithis." She muttered softly as she shut the door and watched the guard pass oblivious to the break-in.

Moving into the shadows, she could hear muffled talking on the floor above. The voices were hazy, but by the tone of the more dominant one, Alor felt confident that Maven was awake and giving orders.

_How am I going to do this?_ She thought as she crept up the stairs. She had three poisoned blades and one left clean. Two of the poisons killed quickly, but left the victims free to move. The third poison was a faster acting version of the one she had used on Freya. A plan formulated in her head as a door thudded somewhere above her.

"And be sure to have honey when you bring me my tea." Maven's voice called out from the last room in the long hall, guiding the quick, silent steps of the assassin. She slowed her pace as she approached what appeared to be a sitting room. The door was open, inviting the Listener to slip in using one of the many shadows of the windowless room. Alor found it strange that Maven would prefer such a dark place for her morning drink. The only light the came was from a fire on the back wall that shot random rays at the rows of books surrounding the room.

_She is making this easy,_ Alor thought as she moved towards Maven, the woman still unaware that she wasn't alone. Letting out her breath slowly, the Listener lunged forward and pricked the powerful Nord's neck.

"What in the name of Talos!" Maven roared at the sharp pain, turning to find the masked assassin standing before her. "You!" she bellowed, moving to rise but only getting half way before the poison caused her muscles to stiffen.

Maven looked around frantically, her eyes lingering on the bookcase nearest to her. "You're that thief I hired to do the Honningbrew job." She said loudly, as if hoping someone would hear. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Sithis is calling." Alor said, moving towards the stiffening woman carefully.

"Sithis? But I have paid you people well to not take out a contract on me!" Maven yelled, her eyes darting back to the bookcase. "The Dark Brotherhood leader swore she would listen."

"She's been dead for some time. The Night Mother's rule has returned." Alor said, putting her poisoned blade back into her thieves' gear and pulling out the clean knife.

"And does Brynjolf know that you are an assassin, thief?" Maven called, her voice growing weaker as the poison continued its affect. "Does he know that his recruit took money to kill me?"

"No." the Listener said darkly pressing her blade to Maven's chest.

"Stop this at once." She hissed, her eyes holding her anger as her jaw began to tighten. "I have paid you. You must listen to me."

"It's already done." The Listener said, smiling at the fear that began to fill Maven's dark eyes. In a rush of excitement, she pushed the blade through the woman's ribs, feeling the dull resistance give way to the metal. Maven gave out a small gasp as thick, dark blood poured out of the wound that Alor had carved. She felt her heart beat rapidly as she cut a large circle in the nearly dead woman's chest, saving the large, life-giving aorta for last.

Grabbing Maven's hair, she could hear the last few hissing breathes come from her mouth. "I hope you can still hear this," she whispered, jerking the Nord's head back. "No one owns me, least of all you."

Pulling her hand back, she thrust her blade just above the woman's heart, severing the large vessel so that blood poured out of her open chest. _No one owns me,_ Alor thought darkly, her body warming with the familiar sense of power and control. Reaching into the jagged hole she left in the ribs, Alor ripped open the sac holding Maven's heart and pulled it out with a quick slice. She set it on the table, ignoring the slumping motion of the woman's body as she stepped away.

No noise sounded through the house as she made her way down the stairs and out into the streets. She reveled in her kill. She let the feelings of dominance sweep over her and blind her to the unsettling idea that when she entered the home there had been two people at least present and that she had left behind potential witnesses. All that she was blissfully aware of was the warmth in her hands from where she had held Maven's heart and the surge of adrenaline coursing her veins.

She slipped unseen into the cistern and quickly moved towards her bed. Stripping off the bloody clothes, she pulled on her torn assassin armor that she had inexpertly repaired. Next to her, Niruin wheezed slightly before letting out a long, wet cough. The strength of his coughs had diminished significantly from when she left, which was a good sign considering he had not been on his regular regimen. Reaching into her things, she pulled out the little vial of poison and moved over to his bed.

"What is that?" his hoarse voice whispered, startling the assassin into nearly dropping the bottle.

"I thought you were asleep." She said, looking at the Bosmer's pale face. His skin had begun to molt a little and his nails looked blue. Even his hair had begun to thin out as his body became overly stressed with fighting the affects of Babette's concoction.

Niruin let out another weak cough, the crackling noise sounding like some sort of lung disease. His _illness_ had progressed much faster than she had anticipated, his body taking on the appearance of an old man dwindling into eternal slumber. "Drink this." She said softly, pushing the bottle to the elf's lips.

He gave her a trusting look, swallowing the entire bottle without question. There was something about his eyes that stirred a long forgotten emotion in her. It was similar to what she felt the day she framed Brand-Shei in the Market for Brynjolf. It made her uncomfortable and sad, all at once. _He will die today,_ she thought to herself while Niruin carefully laid back on his pillow. Moving back to her own bed, she rummaged in her small bag of belongings until she found a small, black bottle. It was something she always carried with her in case she found herself injured beyond repair. She had no intention of ever dying in pain after having lived through so much already.

Moving back to Niruin, she tapped his shoulder lightly. "Drink this one, too."

"Will it make me feel better?" he asked softly, his brow wrinkling in concentration.

"It will make all the pain go away." She said, pushing the bottle to his lips. He looked at her again with his large, trusting eyes. She felt something akin to pity, knowing that with the poisons he probably felt more than just the illness. _He doesn't deserve to die like this,_ she thought briefly. _It should have been quick and painless._

Taking the empty sedative bottle away, she watched his face relax as he slipped into sleep. No one would question his death after how horrible he looked. She was sure that they even expected it. There was no point in dragging it out any longer or making the Bosmer suffer needlessly. She took no pleasure in this kill.

Slumping back on her bed, she continued to watch the Bosmer's shallow breathes. She felt completely sobered from her earlier kill, all of her former energy leaving her. _I just need some sleep_, she thought, blaming the strange emotions on being up for more than a day. Laying back on her own bed, she let her eyes drift shut…

"Get up!" a rough hand grabbed her, shaking her violently.

Alor's eyes shot open, her hand drawing a knife without thinking and slashing violently.

"Put that thing down." Came the gravely voice of Mercer from behind her.

"What's going on?" she asked, somewhat confused, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Its morning, elf." Mercer snapped. "Now what did you learn?"

Alor felt a shudder run through her at the look the Breton gave her. It was cold and merciless, like her fathers. Yet, there was something else there that was even darker. She had only seen something like it once before in her life and it had been in one of her father's _friends_ who took pleasure out of torturing her before he violated her. It shook her deeply, causing fear to overrun her normal personality

Alor stared at him, unable to find the words. Niruin's labored breathing filled the silence until Mercer seemed to loose his patience. "Well? I'm waiting."

"The person behind everything is called Karliah." She managed to choke out, her eyes searching desperately for Brynjolf.

"No, it can't be!" he said, his eyes opening wide. He paced for a moment, deep in thought. "That's grave news indeed. She's someone I hoped to never cross paths with again." He mumbled to himself. "Karliah has destroyed everything the Guild has stood for." He said louder, a dark cloud covering his eyes. "Did you find out where she is?"

"Gulum-Ei told me she said 'Where the end began'." Alor sputtered, her desperate search turning up nothing.

"There is only one place that could be. The place where she murdered Gallus…a ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum." Mercer said darkly, his face becoming tight as he let silence fall once more. Alor remained still and silent, hoping that Mercer would leave. She had never had to speak with him alone. Brynjolf had always been there to stand between her and the man that brought back so many horrible memories. _Where is he_? She wondered, pulling her legs up into herself and rocking slightly.

"We have to go out there before she disappears again." Mercer finally said, giving her a hard look.

"Go with you?" she said suddenly, her eyes growing wide. "Can't I go with someone else? Like Brynjolf?"

"I know her techniques, her skills. There is no one else that could possibly catch her." Mercer replied impatiently. "Besides, Brynjolf has been gone for two days doing Akatosh knows what. You are the only other competent thief here." He finished coldly, the slight complement sounding dead and false from his lips.

"Get up. Get your things. We're going to leave immediately. Together, we're going to kill her." He said moving away. "We leave in five minutes."

Alor watched him shock for a minute or two before his glare met her eyes from across the cistern, moving her into action. She already had her knives strapped to her waist, so all she needed was her mace. _Something is wrong about this_, she thought fearfully. _Where is Brynjolf?_

She had no time to figure anything out, though, as Mercer motioned her to follow him. Knowing that refusing wasn't an option, she moved behind him and left the warm safety of the cistern, apprehension filling her heart.


	27. Truth

**Chapter 26**

It was late evening when Brynjolf finally reached Dawnstar. The journey had taken him nearly two days to reach the city, giving him plenty of time to think. He felt sad, angry, and confused by everything and couldn't force himself to accept what logic demanded must be true. Sorrow had filled him at first, the whole situation feeling as though he had lost the woman he had grown to care for. He had become dependent on the bond he felt they had created and thought he had found the one thing his life was lacking. Then the anger came.

He was angry at himself for trusting someone who he should have never trusted, angry at her for doing what she almost certainly did, and angry that he still had feelings for her despite it going against every rational fiber in his body. When he tried to figure out why he still cared, he became more and more confused, resulting in him either swearing loudly at Talos for sending the fiend to him or begging the god to let all his suspicions be false.

_I'll know the truth soon enough,_ he thought bitterly as he made his way to the inn and rented a room. He hadn't stopped to rest for very long on his journey, his mind making it impossible to find any comfort or sleep. Throwing his bag in the corner, he decided it would be futile to attempt sleep until he made some headway in finding his little Dunmer.

Moving towards the counter, he caught the eye of the innkeeper and waved him over. "I'm looking for a Dunmer woman," Brynjolf started. "She's short, dark hair, wears a mask, have you seen anyone like that around town?"

"No, can't say that I have." The Nord replied easily.

Brynjolf frowned. "I'm also looking for a little girl, she's a Nord."

"There aren't many children in this town." The innkeeper replied. "In fact, the only child has yet to be born."

"Are you sure? I was suppose to meet a little girl here and give her a letter from the Dunmer." Brynjolf lied, his eyes masking the tale with expert precision.

"I don't know what to tell you, but there aren't any children in this town." The innkeeper repeated, taking up his broom and going back to his business.

Brynjolf watched him for a moment, unsure if the man was hiding something or if there truly were no children in the town. _All of this was for nothing, _he thought bitterly as he turned to go back to his room.

"Did I hear you asking about a little girl?" came a whisper from the corner. Brynjolf spun around to find the inn's bard staring at him with such intensity it was unsettling.

"I was." He answered carefully, taking a few steps towards the woman. "Who are you?"

"I'm Karita, Thoring's daughter." She said, motioning towards the innkeeper who was busy organizing things behind his counter.

"Your father already told me there aren't any children here." Brynjolf said.

"Not any you would want to meet, that is." Karita said darkly.

"What do you mean?"

The bard rose from her seat and moved towards Brynjolf, her eyes glancing around to see if anyone was listening. "They say that there is a demon child that waits out in the wilderness for travelers, just off the main road. She only comes out at night and will call to those passing by, looking for help. All those who have answered the call have never been seen again."

"I'm not in the mood for stories, lass." Brynjolf said impatiently. "I'm looking for a real child and a real Dunmer. Not some made-up demon."

"It's not a story, friend." Karita pressed. "And you aren't the first person with a letter looking for a little girl in this town. If I were you, I would forget the letter and leave here in the morning."

Brynjolf gave her a skeptical look and returned to his room, shutting the door from her lingering gaze. The sincerity in the woman's eyes unsettled him slightly, along with her talk of other people searching for a little girl in the town. _It can't be true_, he thought, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"It's the only thing I have to go on, though." He muttered after wrestling in his mind over the plausibility of the story. "I have to go."

He rose stiffly, stretching briefly before strapping on his daggers just to be safe. He left his room quickly, ignoring the looks of Thoring and Karita as he made his way out the door of the inn and down the road.

"This is insane." He told himself, over and over as he slowly traveled down the only road in the city. Night had fallen over the little mining town, adding a spookiness to what had originally appeared as quant.

Once outside of the town, he moved off the path and began looking for signs of life. _There's nothing out here but plants and rocks,_ he thought angrily after nearly an hour of wandering from the road. "Damned bard and her stories." He spat, leaning against a tree and rubbing his face.

"Stories? Oh, I do love stories!" came a childish voice from the darkness.

Brynjolf jolted up right, his heart thumping wildly at the sudden invasion of wood's tranquility. "Who's there?" he called out, his hand pulling one of his daggers free from its sheath.

"Oh, please sir, don't hurt me!" the voice rang out again, followed by a small girl who stood half hidden by a tree. "I've wandered from home and am lost! Please help me!"

_Just like that bard said_, he thought suspiciously. Keeping his guard up he looked at the child carefully. She appeared as any other little girl, light hair, large eyes, and an aura of innocence radiating off her. It all seemed a little too ordinary, especially for a little girl that was lost. "Who are you?"

The girl began to make small crying noises, but Brynjolf noticed no tears fell. "I'm lost, sir. Please help! I want my mommy and daddy!"

The hairs rose on his neck, his instincts screaming for him to run. Moving a few paces to the left, he felt his boot hit something soft, a foul smell coming from whatever he had disturbed. Looking down quickly, he thought it was a log, until he noticed that it had bloated, puffy hands. Giving it another quick look, he recognized a few more human features and a familiar tunic covering the rotting corpse. "Talos!" he exclaimed as he realized it was the courier Alor had paid while they were in Whiterun. "What is this?"

"My leftovers." The girl replied darkly, walking towards him with an evil grin on her face.

"Y-your leftovers?" he stammered, clumsily stepping away from the child, the bizarre scene and horrible smells clouding his normally quick mind. "You eat people?"

"Why yes, silly." The girl laughed, her pace quickening towards him. "Vampires tend to like Nord blood."

"That man, he was hired to deliver you a letter." Brynjolf choked out, his hands growing sweaty on his dagger handles while he continued to back away from the frightening vampire-child.

"Yes, he was." She said, giving him a curious look. "How did you know that?"

"I was with Alor when she paid him." He lied, his feet carefully moving over the uneven terrain as he moved away from the girl.

"Alor? Really? And then what brings you here?" she said dangerously, her eyes narrowing and her graceful speed increasing.

"To find her. She was suppose to be back in Riften nearly a week ago." He said, lying again. "I thought she may have come here since she sent a letter to you."

The girl stopped moving, her eyes looking at him curiously for a moment before a large smile transformed her face into something sweet and lovable. "Oh ho, and you came all the way from Riften to find her? Now that is something!"

"What do you mean?" Brynjolf asked, hoping to keep her smiling at him rather than stalking him like a hunter after prey.

"It just makes perfect sense, now. She doesn't like stealing, she likes you!" the girl continued laughing all the while. "I didn't think such a thing was possible!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Brynjolf said, confused by her vague words.

"Never mind it." The girl said cheerfully. "Go back to Riften. You'll find _your Alor_ there."

"How does she know you?" he pressed, feeling braver with the girl's apparent decision to let him go.

"That doesn't matter. All that matters is that the one you seek is back where she should be and I'm not going to use you for dinner." She said sweetly, turning back into the wilderness. "Good night, thief."

Brynjolf watched her disappear behind the thin trees, his mind racing with more questions than he had before. He had done nothing to confirm if Alor was an assassin, as Delvin claimed. Instead, he found a vampire, had nearly been attacked by said vampire, and wasted time seeking out the Dunmer when she was supposedly back in Riften already. Making his way back to the inn, he quickly gathered his things and began the long journey home.

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It was another two days when he finally reached home. He was exhausted, confused, and growing more and more concerned about what he would do and say to Alor once he found her. He needed to know if she was with the Brotherhood and if she was still killing. He prayed that she was done with that life, that he could ignore what he learned and push through his disgust and anger at Freya and Falk's deaths and things could go back to the way they were.

Slipping into the cistern, he was surprised to see if full of activity despite the late hour. Everyone appeared on edge, hushed whispers and anxious voices creating a cacophony within the underground refuge. "What's going on?" he called out, getting relieved looks from Vex and Delvin who were in the thick of things.

"Thank Talos, you're back!" Vex cried out, her voice somewhat hysterical.

"What's going on?" he asked again, looking from anxious face to another. "Where's Alor? And Mercer?"

"They're gone." Delvin said quickly. "We don't know where or why, but no one has seen either of them since yesterday morning."

"Gone?" Brynjolf repeated lamely, his mind slowly processing the information. "Together?"

"It seems that way." Vex answered nervously, "But that's not the issue here, well, not really."

"Will you tell me what the problem is, then?" he yelled, his patience wearing out.

"Maven's been killed." She answered, the cistern falling silent as everyone stared at him.

"What? How?"

"It was _her."_ Delvin said, giving Brynjolf a significant look. "She broke into the manor in yesterday morning and cut Maven's heart out."

"Are you sure it was her, Delvin?" he asked, his heart dropping into his stomach as the harsh truth came out.

"The maid was in a passage behind some bookcases. She heard Maven identify her killer as the thief that did the Honningbrew job." The Breton answered quickly.

Brynjolf's hands want to his hair as a low moan escaped his lips. Everything he had thought and hoped for concerning the Dunmer was a lie. She was not the woman he thought she was. She was a murderer, killing for money without remorse. The cold truth of it was impossible to ignore and it burned through Brynjolf like a knife through his heart.

Looking at the wide-eyed thieves that were depending on him to fix the problem, he pushed his pain away, just as he did when he had lost his family. He felt the bitterness, anger, and sorrow plant itself in his soul, where he knew it would plague him with tormenting thoughts for years to come. _It's done_, he told himself, detaching all of his feelings from his thoughts and becoming the Guild second, ready to lead his family through the crisis.

_At least their all safe,_ he thought, looking out at their anxious faces. _Wait, we're missing someone_…"Where's Niruin?"

A deadly stillness fell across the thieves. "He died, Bryn." Vex said gently.

"She killed him too?"

"No," Vex said quickly. "He died in his sleep. He was so sick, Bryn. You saw how bad he was before you left. He just went downhill the last few days and we couldn't bring him back."

"We tried to get him potions." Delvin continued for Vex, his voice lined with saddness. "We even took him to the temple to be healed, but nothing seemed to work. The priest said that there was just too much to heal."

A wave a guilt flooded Brynjolf as he took in the news. _If I had been here, I could have healed him_. _He wouldn't have died if I hadn't left to chase after that…that murderer!_

"Bryn?" Vex called, her eyes looking at him anxiously. "Sibbi wants to see you."

"What?" he asked, his mind unable to process any more information.

"Sibbi." She said again. "He sent Maul down here after it happened, looking for Alor. We told him that she was out on a job. He came back later and said that you or Mercer were to go talk to them immediately when you got back."

"Alright." He said, moving slowly towards the cistern exit. "Just…everyone stay here. I don't want anyone putting themselves in danger, especially if Sibbi is looking for revenge." He said dully, his shoulders slumping with the weight of the situation.

No one said anything as he left, the silence speaking their worries better than any words. Slowly, he found his way into the manor, Maul gruffly greeting him and showing him up the sitting room at the end of the hall.

It was a well-lit room, torches lining the walls and large fire blazing in the hearth. The walls were covered with bookcases filled to the brim with tomes and novels. Yet, what drew his eye was the large red stain on the wooden floor positioned perfectly in front of the chair Sibbi sat in. Brynjolf felt his legs grow weak as he realized what must have caused such a deep stain.

"Talos." He whispered, glancing into the glare the young Black-Briar gave him.

"It was ruthless." Sibbi said darkly, rising from where he sat. "Where is she, Brynjolf?"

"I don't know Sibbi. She went on a job with Mercer."

"I want her." The young man hissed, his features darkening with his rage. "She needs to pay for what she did."

"I'll bring her to you when she gets back."

"You mean _if_ she comes back!" he yelled, his eyes growing wild. "This is your fault, Brynjolf. You let her into the Guild."

"I didn't know what she was!" the red-haired thief exclaimed. "I wouldn't have approached her if I did."

Sibbi lunged out and grabbed the front of Brynjolf's armor roughly and shaking him. "I don't care about what you would have done! Look at what happened! Where were you? Why didn't you stop this?"

"I was-"

"You were what, Brynjolf? What were you doing while one of your thieves was cutting the heart out of my mother?"

"I was trying to find her, Sibbi." Brynjolf shouted. "I had just learned that she had some connections with the Brotherhood and I was out trying to confirm if they were true. I missed her by a few days."

The young Nord released his armor and stared at him for a long time. "You've failed once, Brynjolf. I won't let you fail again. I'm going to send Maul with you so I'm sure that I'll hear about her return immediately."

"I swear, Sibbi, I will tell you."

"No, I don't know if you will. Dirge told me you were sweet on that grayback filth. I'm not leaving this for chance. She will pay whether she's you're whore or not."

Brynjolf stared agape at the young nobleman, unsure of what to say. "I-"

"We're done here." Sibbi said, cutting the thief off midsentence. "Don't fail me again or it will be bad for you and the rest of those rats you keep down there. Now get out of my sight."

Brynjolf did as he was told and slunk out of the large manor, Maul shadowing his steps back to the ratway. He didn't say a word to the other thieves, instead going straight to the empty Flagon. Without a second thought, he moved behind the bar and grabbed a large bottle of mead, letting the sharp taste wash the bitterness from his throat and his sorrow from his mind. Grabbing a second, he smothered his anger in waves of barley, feeling the sweet alcohol mask his guilt and sense of self-loathing. Opening a third bottle he ignored the tentative looks from Delvin and Vex, who had followed him into the tavern. _To Oblivion with it all_, he thought, gulping down the bottle. _To Oblivion._


	28. Karliah

**AN: I made some changes to this after getting a lot of feedback...I think it's better this way. It won't change Ch. 29 or the overall story, but doesn't seem as far-fetched. Thanks for the reviews with your opinions! It helps me make this story better.  
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**Chapter 27**

The world was dark and empty, save for a cold, hard laugh that seemed to come from all around her. Alor could feel a sharp pain in her shoulder, but everything else was hazy. Somewhere, in the distance she could hear what sounded like grunts, the world shifting strangely in its empty nothingness.

_I'm with Sithis_, _this is the void_. The thought was comforting. She let the darkness surround her mind as the laughter echoed away, wrapping her in its cold embrace. She felt free, utterly and totally free from all of her pain and compulsions. Sighing, she felt a happy relief wash over her the likes of which she had only felt before when wrapped in Brynjolf's arms.

_Brynjolf,_ she thought, the name driving away some of the peace she felt. _ I can't leave Brynjolf!_ Struggling, she forced herself to focus on the jarring motions of the world around her and the chill that stung her shoulder. Suddenly, the motions stopped and the world went still. Slowly, she became aware of her body. It felt heavy and useless, her mind unable to send her muscles the orders necessary to move. _Wake up!_ She screamed inside her head, her eyelids slowly fluttering open.

At first, all she saw was whiteness, but after a few tentative blinks she made out that she was outside in a drift of snow. Panic began to fill her as her mind quickly recalled an arrow piercing her arm, followed by Mercer's blade cutting into her flesh. _Wake up, wake up!_ She screamed at herself, forcing her sluggish muscles to spasm as she attempted to move.

"Easy, easy. Don't get up so quickly" came a throaty, feminine voice.

Alor looked around and saw the dark elf from the ruin. Another wave of panic flooded her as she kicked out violently, trying to move away from the woman.

"Calm down! I'm not going to hurt you!"

"You shot me!" Alor exclaimed, her clumsy fingers unable to pull out one of her knives.

"No, I saved your life." The woman said softly. "My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out."

Alor looked up from where she sat, her heart racing with fear. "You shot me and Mercer stabbed me." She said again, the pain in her arm and shoulder growing. Groaning, she slumped back in the snow, her mind unable to process what was going on.

"Stay with me." The woman said, moving to her side and applying something cool and wet to the wounds despite the wounded elf's protests. "I'm trying to help you."

"Don't touch me!" Alor yelled, her body jerking away from the unknown woman and her mysterious potions.

The woman moved away, giving Alor a curious look with her light eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you. My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer, but I never had a clear shot."

"Is he dead?" Alor asked, her head swiveling, expecting to see the horrible Breton lurking behind her, ready to strike.

"No."

The Listener shuddered, the whole two-day journey coming back to her. It had been horrible from the start. She didn't trust the man with his cold eyes and harsh tongue. From all that she had seen of him she knew that he gained obedience through violent punishments for those thieves that did not live up to expectations. It reminded her of her father and left her feeling angry and slightly fearful of the man due to the unpredictability of his reactions.

The journey to the ruin had been a silent, tense one. Occasionally, Mercer had asked her if Gulum-Ei had said anything more about Karliah and her plan. Alor always responded with a quick shake of her head, not desiring any further communication with the man. Things didn't change once inside the ruin. She had kept slightly behind the Breton, not fully trusting him to not have him in her view. Stupidly, when they reached the puzzle door, she had listened to his order to go inside, the whistling of an arrow filling her ears and sending searing pain down her arm.

Yet, the injury wasn't the worse of it. At least that came from a known enemy. After the poison began to settle in, she had heard Mercer's disturbing confession and saw the point of his blade before everything went black.

A loud sob escaped her lips as images of Mercer's face with his dark grin after he had stabbed her floated in front of her eyes. It was a confusing mess and she felt her chest tighten in panic at the pain she felt and the unpredictable situations he found herself in. The world started to drift in and out of focus as she began rocking, her knees pulled tightly into her chest.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no." she repeated over and over, barely hearing the woman asking if she was all right. Her world started to close in around her, her mind searching for something to cling to that would bring back order. Alor felt a rough hand grab her and something wet hit her face and slide down her throat. The world went black once more.

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She awoke to whispered voices coming around her, thick furs covering her shivering frame. Bolting upright, she looked around wildly, seeing the Dunmer woman and a Bosmer talking quietly.

"Where am I?" she demanded, moving quickly from the bed and becoming instantly dizzy.

"Sit down." The Dunmer woman said sternly. "You are in the inn in Winterhold."

Alor felt her heart race, but she did her best to keep herself focused on her surroundings instead of falling into her mental prison.

"So you were saying you found his journal?" the Bosmer said, turning back to the woman.

"Yes, but I can't read it."

The Bosmer took the book the woman held and opened it. He chuckled slightly and smiled, laying the book down. "Oh, Gallus. You were a dear friend but you really were too clever for your own good."

"What is it?" the woman asked.

"He's written all the text in the Falmer language. I can't translate this for you, but there's someone who might be able to."

"Who?"

"He's the court wizard of Markarth. He may have the material to do the translation, but I warn you, he's very protective of his research. It's not going to be easy to get."

The woman looked crestfallen, taking the book back. "Mercer must be brought before the Guild to answer for what he's done." She whispered, her eyes becoming determined. "He needs to pay for Gallus' murder."

At the mention of Mercer, Alor shuddered again, slumping to the floor in exhaustion. The woman looked over at her but stayed away. "Are you all right?"

The assassin closed her eyes and attempted to keep the dark whispers of her past behind the wall she had built. "Mercer needs to die." She said darkly, the pain in her shoulder and the defilement of her body sharpening her thoughts enough to keep control of her mind.

"I'm glad you think so." The woman said. "Though I wonder, why did he bring you with him to find me?"

Alor looked at the corner, her mouth tasting stale and her body aching. "I don't know. But I will kill him, by Sithis, I will." She growled, her hands itching for blood, her mind screaming for power. She clung to the physical pain that shot through her, letting the rage it created keep her focused. It was similar to what she had felt the night she had snapped back in the Imperial City, her anger and pain allowing her to move beyond the crippling fear of her father, her hands finding the strength to take their first life.

"Sithis?" the Bosmer whispered, his voice quaking slightly. "I thought you said she was a thief, Karliah."

"She is!" the Dunmer woman exclaimed. "She was with Mercer."

"Be quiet." The Listener yelled, causing both elves to fall silent. "Tell me where Mercer is and I will kill him. No more talking."

"We need to get the pages translated. Only Gallus had any idea that Mercer was a traitor. I think he wrote in here what Mercer was planning." Karliah said.

"Give me the pages." Alor said, rising from where she sat. The Dunmer looked at her, unsure of what to do. "_Give me the pages!_"

"Here." The Bosmer said, handing her the journal.

Alor took it and opened it roughly. She flipped through the few pages that had been written on and ripped them from the journal. Karliah moved as if she was going to protest, but a hard look from the Listener silenced her. "I'm going back to the Guild first. Then I will go to Markarth and then I will make Mercer wish he never was born."

"We should go to Markarth first." Karliah said lightly.

"No. I need to see Brynjolf." Alor said, moving from the room, her rage burning brightly over the physical fatigue and stress her body was suffering.

"Fine, then I'm going with you." The Dunmer woman said, following Alor with a somewhat flustered look.

"Fine." The assassin said, marching out of the inn and down the road, her hands aching for action.

They walked in tense silence for two hours when the sounds of hooves were heard on the path in front of them. Alor didn't hesitate, moving towards the noise and finding a courier trotting towards them completely unaware of the danger.

The Listener moved fast, not caring that the Dunmer woman stood watching in horror as she threw her knife at the man, landing in his head with a sickening thud. The horse whinnied a little as its Nord master slipped from his back.

"Get on." Alor ordered, the Dunmer woman doing as she was told without question.

The assassin watched her with impatience, whistling sharply once Karliah was mounted and comfortable. She moved towards the dead man and retrieved her knife, pulling it from his skull with a hard jerk. She then stood waiting, silence falling over the empty road again.

"Why are we waiting?" Karliah asked in a trembling voice.

"I'm waiting for _my_ horse." Alor answered.

"She's insane." The Dunmer woman muttered, her eyes wide with fear. "I am going to be killed by a madwoman."

Suddenly, heavy hoof beats came down the path, the familiar black body and red eyes of Shadowmere appearing in a thunderous gallop. "There you are!"

The monstrous horse stopped in front of the Listener, waiting impatiently to be mounted. "I don't think I have to tell you that if you ever speak a word of this to anyone I will not hesitate to kill you, right?" Alor asked, climbing onto Shadowmere with as much grace as her tired body would allow.

Karliah shook her head. "We're on the same team."

"For now." Alor replied, feeling a sense of power grow inside her with the woman's escalating fear. "Ride in front of me. I don't trust that you won't stick me with another arrow."

Karliah did as she was told, setting a quick speed on her stolen horse. Alor let her body feed off the rage that filled her, the memories of all of the kills she made while in such a state giving her the sense of power she needed to not fall completely apart. First was her father, her knives severing his head which she then threw in the fire in her childhood home. Then she moved on to her mother. After that, she spent the next few years traveling Cyrodiil, her blades feasting on the blood of thirty-seven of her attackers.

After so much blood and time, the anger that had been powering her and the hatred that burned in her had quieted, leaving a vulnerable shell without purpose. Alor had travelled to back to Bravil in hopes of finding a home in her grandfather's birth city. But things were bad in Cyrodiil and she had many moments of instability that drove her to murder random people in order to reestablish the control and power she gleaned from killing. She moved frequently, eventually finding herself in Skyrim, forced by some cruel twist of fate to be the Dragonborn.

The fire in her burned hotter with the thoughts of her more recent past. Being the Dragonborn had meant constant uncertainty, many near-death experiences, and every Jarl manipulating her to do their will. She no longer had freedom or power. She was a pawn that was used by Skyrim's leaders to end a civil war and take care of their problems. The only happiness she had found was within the Brotherhood, the contracts giving her a release for her rage and the dominance she needed to have over others.

Yet, her happiness was short-lived with the current chaos she felt smoldering under her rage. She was one wrong step away from breaking, the anger holding her together just enough to get them to Riften. As the walls grew larger, she thought of Brynjolf, her need to see him greater than it had ever been before. _Everything will be okay,_ she thought as they galloped forward. _He will make everything all right._


	29. Confrontations

**Chapter 28**

Brynjolf sat at Mercer's desk, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the wall. The Guild was still full of tension even a week after Maven's assassination, none of the thieves coming or going as he had ordered. Everyone was starting to feel irritable by being kept in such close quarters, but it was for their safety. It didn't help, though, that Sibbi was continually sending his men down, getting reports from a very surly Maul. It had everyone on edge, especially knowing the young nobleman's reputation for impatience and ruthlessness.

Byrnjolf had been on edge, waiting for any sign of the Dunmer. He even awoke the night before, thinking that he heard someone creeping about near the vault. But when he went to look no one was there. Each day she didn't return the pressure on him grew. Brynjolf knew that should Alor not come back it would most likely be his head on the chopping block.

Sighing, he turned his gaze towards Sapphire and Vex, who were whispering in low voices. He was almost certain it was about him, since he had spent the last three nights drinking whatever Vekel pushed his way. He knew that people thought he was cracking under the pressure. _Maybe I am_, he thought bitterly, his heart apathetic to everything after being pulled in so many directions.

Just as he began to wonder how much longer Sibbi would wait a low rumble was heard coming from the secret entrance, marking someone entering. Brynjolf stood, one hand hovering over his dagger while the other tugged at the long tips of his hair. It seemed like an eternity before soft footsteps were heard and the masked Dunmer appeared in the cistern. For a moment, the world stood still as Brynjolf locked eyes with her, his heart breaking all over again.

"Come here, lass." He said unevenly, glancing over and seeing Maul give a small nod and turn towards the ratway.

"Brynjolf!" Alor said in a rush as she jogged towards where he stood. "I have to –"

"Where's Mercer?" he interrupted, anxiety filling him as it was clear the Breton was not with her.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone!"

_By the Nine, she's killed him!_ He thought, the sadness he had momentarily felt quickly being replaced by anger. "What did you do?"

"Nothing." She said, her eyes growing wide over her mask. "He stabbed me and left."

Brynjolf looked at her, noticing for the first time two wounds on her left side. For a second he wanted to tend to them and care for her, but that impulse was erased as he thought of all the reasons Mercer would have to stab the assassin. "Where did he go?" he said forcefully, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

Alor took a step back, the little bit of her exposed face showing her shock and uncertainty at his reaction. "I don't know. That's what Karliah is trying to figure out."

"Wait, Karliah?"

"Yes, Mercer wanted to go after her. She was in this ruin and she told him that she was going to make him pay for killing Gallus."

"But Karliah killed Gallus!" Brynjolf exclaimed, his hand rubbing his face in frustration. "What are you talking about, lass?"

"I don't know." She said quickly. "All I know is that Karliah is waiting in the Bee and Barb for me. You go talk to her if you want to know more."

Brynjolf felt his head spin with the strange news, momentarily distracted from the real problem at hand. The bits she told him seemed completely unbelievable. Karliah killed Gallus and Mercer did not return after going out alone with Alor. Those were facts, hard, honest truths that he could trust. As she stood there, looking at him with large, innocent eyes his anger grew. He couldn't believe that she dared to spout off lies to someone she had acted like she cared for. _She lied about who she was, what makes this any different?_

"I don't believe that. What did you do to Mercer?" he finally managed to hiss out of his clenching jaw.

"I didn't do anything! Why aren't you listening to me?"

"Maybe it's because you've been lying to me the whole time you've been part of the Guild!" he shouted, his facing becoming as red as his hair. "Tell me the truth, Alor. Why are you here?"

"What do you mean?" she asked nervously.

Brynjolf gave a snort of disbelief, shaking his head as he searched for the words that would fully express his anger and hurt. Finding none, he merely looked at her, watching her eyes as a rush of activity came from the other end of the cistern.

"Here she is at last!" Sibbi called out, getting a few murmurs from the seven men that came with him. "Our little _assassin_."

Alor looked over at the nobleman and then back at Brynjolf, her eyes opening wide in shock. "Brynjolf?"

"You brought this on yourself." He hissed, moving away from her, trying to ignore the pleading look in her eyes.

Sibbi smiled at him as he motioned for his men to surround the little Dunmer, all of them armed with lethal looking swords. The nobleman continued to smile, his eyes darkening cruelly. "You thought you were so clever, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you mean." She said, her scarlet eyes darting towards Brynjolf. Her look was begging for him to intervene, but he stood where he was. His anger at being lied to and his guilt over the fates of Freya, Falk, and even the passing of Niruin made it impossible for him to move to her defense. It was only a few moments before her imploring, soft look turned hard, fear and anger lining her red eyes in a frightening display.

"You killed my mother! Admit it!" Sibbi shouted, motioning for one of his men to move forward and bind her hands. Alor stood completely still, her eyes darting to each of the men, a calculating look filling them.

"Admit it!" he shouted again, raising his hand and striking the bound Dunmer violent.

Brynjolf cringed, a small gasp escaping his lips. He was torn between his need to help her and his righteous anger that called for him to leave her be.

"Yes. I did." Alor finally hissed, her scarlet glare locking onto the young Black-Briar who dared to touch her.

Sibbi seemed taken aback by her look, his face briefly revealing his nervousness before returning to its hard, confident look. "She paid you people off! You weren't suppose to take a contract out on her."

Alor laughed, the so dark and cold that it sent chills up Brynjolf's spine. A wild look filled her that was similar to what he had seen after their return from Whiterun. Except instead of the fear her eyes had held when he had comforted her in the ratway, a cold rage simmered behind her blood-red orbs. She was no longer the Alor he had grown to care for, but the black-hearted killer that could slice a throat without remorse.

"You cannot _pay_ Sithis, fool!" Alor laughed, her eyes never leaving Sibbi.

"I'm done with this talk." The nobleman said roughly, his confidence faltering a bit. "Take her to the cart."

The men immediately pressed in on the bound elf, a few prodding her to move towards the exit with their swords. She looked back and shot him one last look, the meaning behind it unclear.

"What are you going to do?" Brynjolf called out after Sibbi.

"Kill her." He said, turning from the Guild second and following his men out of the Guild's home.

Brynjolf sunk into the chair by the desk, his hands covering his eyes. _It's done_, the thought, waiting for a sense of relief that never came. He knew he should be happy that Alor was discovered and that Sibbi was handling the situation, but he couldn't shake the look in her eyes. Her pleading for him to help her, the fear, and even the anger, it all spoke of a sense of betrayal. _ I did no more to her than what she did to me_, he reasoned, letting his fingers run through his dirty hair.

"I need a drink." He mumbled as he stood. He began to walk towards the Flagon when he remembered what Alor had said about Karliah. _It's just a lie, Bryn,_ he told himself. _Don't be a fool_. Yet, despite his warnings, his feet turned and took him out of the guild and towards the Bee and Barb.

"Why am I even doing this?" he asked aloud as he stood outside the familiar wooden doors. "Karliah is gone. She murdered Gallus. It was just another lie."

_But how did she even know about Karliah and Gallus?_ He wondered. _ I never talked about them, or what happened._ Hesitating for a moment longer, his curiosity and need for a drink finally drove him to enter the inn. Immediately, he felt disappointed, noticing no one out of the ordinary sitting in the worn, wooden seats. Sighing, he shuffled over to the bar and ordered two meads.

"Rough night?" Keerava asked as she filled his order.

"Rough week." Brynjolf replied, flipping the Argonian a few septims and making his way to a dark corner.

It only took a few gulps for his first drink to be empty, the dark liquid doing little to erase the horrible events. Carefully setting the bottle down, he started in on his second when the hairs on his neck stood up. Turning, he choked on his drink, a set of light eyes staring at him.

"Karliah!"

"Hello, Brynjolf." The Dunmer woman said, her words short as she looked at him hard. "I wondered if you would come to see me."

"I didn't actually believe you were here!" he exclaimed, noticing for the first time that the old thief held a dagger in her hand. "You can put that away, lass."

"Can I?" she asked. "I don't know if I can trust you, Brynjolf."

"For the moment, you can." He said, motioning for her to sit. "I'm in no mood for bloodshed." _Even if you deserve it,_ he thought, taking another drink.

Karliah nodded as if sensing the unsaid thought as she toke the seat across from him. He watched her as she relaxed a little, not surpised, though, that she kept her dagger out in plain view as a warning. "It's been a long time."

"Aye," he replied, drinking deeply from his bottle. "Mind telling me what's going on?"

"Didn't your thief tell you?"

"She didn't have much time to talk." He said, setting the bottle down and waving towards Keerava. The Argonian nodded, grabbed two more bottles and brought them to the table. Karliah waited in silence while Brynjolf fished out more gold and handed to the barmaid.

"Did she at least tell you about Mercer? That he got away?"

"She mentioned something." He answered, moving into his third bottle without much thought. "Why don't you tell me, Karliah."

"Alright." She said, giving him a long look. "Like I told your girl, I wasn't the one to kill Gallus. It was Mercer. Gallus had suspected him in cheating the Guild so Mercer lured him out into the wilderness and killed him."

"And where's the proof?"

"Other than Mercer's confession, you mean?"

"What confession?" Brynjolf asked, sitting up from his slumped position at Karliah's incredulous look.

"Your girl didn't tell you that he admitted to killing Gallus? She wasn't unconscious yet, she should have remembered that." The elf said, her brow wrinkling together in confusion.

"Wait, what you are you talking about?" he asked. "I feel as if I'm missing something."

"Your girl and Mercer came looking for me after they learned that I was behind Honningbrew and that I bought Goldenglow. I was planning on shooting Mercer, but my arrow found your thief instead. Luckily, it was only poisoned with a unique paralytic. It kept her from bleeding out after Mercer stabbed her. She really didn't tell you any of this?"

"No." Brynjolf muttered, his heart sinking as he realized Alor had been telling the truth. "She didn't have a chance to tell me all of that."

"Why? Where is she?"

Brynjolf didn't know what to say. Finishing his bottle, he looked at the Dunmer and sighed. "She's probably dead by now."

"WHAT?" Karliah exclaimed, her eyes growing wide. "Why?"

"She killed Maven Black-Briar." He explained. "I had no idea she was Brotherhood when I recruited her, but it makes sense why she was so eager to join. Brought her closer to her target." He finished bitterly.

"Did she at least give you the journal?" Karliah asked, clearly not caring about the fate of her fellow Dunmer.

"What journal?"

Karliah stood quickly, "Brynjolf, we have to go find where they took her! She has Gallus' journal that will tell us where Mercer went! We need to get that back! It's my proof!"

"Calm down, Karliah." He said, feeling his own anxiety rising with the Dunmer's desperate state.

"Calm down? The one thing that could tell me where Mercer is and what he's planning is with that girl. I've worked twenty years to get that information!" she exclaimed. "Why aren't you more concerned about this? Don't you want to find him too? Gallus told me he's been stealing from the Guild for years!"

"I doubt that, lass. Whether he killed Gallus or not, he lived and breathed for the Guild. I just don't see him doing what you think he's done. I've known Mercer for too long. It can't be true." He said, not wanting to believe what she said was even plausible. _I am not going out to Alor's body, either_, he told himself, a pang of sorrow sweeping through him.

"You are so blind, Brynjolf. He doesn't care about the Guild or his obligations as a Nightingale. All he cares about is money and power."

"A Nightingale?" he asked, his mind becoming somewhat slower with his fourth drink.

"Yes, Brynjolf, a Nightingale. Gallus, Mercer, and myself all were chosen by Nocturnal. He betrayed his oath, killed his friend, and framed me. Why is it so hard to believe that he stole from all of you as well?"

"I just can't believe it. Any of it." He said again.

"Well the proof is on the girl. Help me find her and we can both learn what Gallus knew. Then you can make your judgments. Just help me find her."

"I can't." he said, taking another long drink.

"Why? Don't you care about the Guild? About Gallus? He was your mentor! I thought that you, of all people, would want to know what really happened and see his murderer brought to justice."

"I do care about the Guild and Gallus, Karliah! It's the only reason why I'm listening to you and didn't kill you right when I saw you. I just – I just can't go and see her body. I can't." he said, his sorrow forming his words.

Karliah looked at him, her eyes softening. Reaching out, she took his hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry, Brynjolf. I didn't know."

He pulled his hand away from hers, wrapping it around the bottle instead. "It doesn't matter. She's a murderer and got what she deserved." He said in a harsh, raw voice. "I'm sure Sibbi just took her outside of the city a ways. You could probably find her out there. I doubt they would have buried her."

"Alright, I'll go." Karliah said softly.

"Good." He said, finishing his drink. "Come and find me when you have proof. If Mercer did what you say he's done, I'll be the first to help you avenge Gallus."

"Thank you." She said rising. "It will get easier, Brynjolf."

He didn't respond, letting her leave the tavern as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened. _Alor is a murderer and Sibbi has killed he_r, he thought bitterly. That much, at least, he understood. _Mercer went looking for Karliah, stabbed Alor, admitted to killing Gallus, and disappeared_…_It just can't be true!_

"Why did I come here?" He asked again, feeling his head throb with the overload of information. Yet, despite all of his denial, he knew why he came to the Bee and Barb and even why he didn't strike out at the woman that he had believed for years had killed his mentor and friend. It was because underneath all of his anger and feelings of betrayal, he still cared for Alor and wanted what she had told him to not be a lie. He desperately wanted a reason to not completely despise her.

"Keerava!" he yelled, waving with his hand. "Four more!"

The Argonian woman gave him a look of warning, but did as she was asked. "I don't want any trouble in here tonight, Brynjolf." She said, placing the drinks in front of him.

"Just take your gold and go." He said, not wanting any more lectures. Keerava made a tutting noise, shaking her head as she walked away.

"Can't a man have a bit of peace?" he muttered bring the bottle to his lips.

Slowly, his pain began to dull as drink after drink worked to mask his heartache and guilt. He let his mind drift away from Alor, move beyond his guilt for Niruin's decline and the Guild's predicament, ignore his doubt towards Mercer, and forget all of his worries and anxieties. He hadn't drunk like this in a long, long time. Not even when the Guild was doing bad, he hadn't let himself get this far. But as his sixth, then seventh, and eighth mead lined his throat he forgot his own self-respect and let drunkenness take him.

"Brynjolf." Came Kaliah's voice, cutting through the spinning world late into the night.

"You're back already!" he exclaimed, a grin filling his face.

"Gods, you're drunk." She muttered, pulling her arm away from his tight grasp.

"Get a drink, lass. Have a seat!"

"No, Brynjolf." She said sternly. "We have a problem."

"What's that?" he asked, trying to be serious despite the alcohol-filled haze that covered his senses.

"I couldn't find her." She said quickly. "She was gone."

"They buried her?" he said in disbelief, a small throb of pain breaking through the mead.

"No." she said. "I don't think she died."

"What are you saying." He said desperately, the alcohol allowing his feelings for Alor to shine through.

"I walked down the road for some ways and smelt burning flesh." She started.

"Wait a minute, lass." Brynjolf interjected. "I thought you said you didn't think she died!"

"Let me finish!" Karliah said impatiently. "I thought it might be her, so I followed the smell, but instead of finding her body I found the body of eight men, all on fire."

"Eight? You're sure about this?" he asked thickly, cursing himself for being so drunk.

"I'm sure." She said. "And one of them wore the signet ring of the Black-Briars." She said, dropping a scorched gold ring on the table.

"This is Sibbi's ring!" Brynjolf exclaimed. "How in all of Oblivion did she do it?"

"I don't know." Karliah said. "But if she's alive, she still has Gallus journal."

He felt a conflict rip through him as his own desire to see Alor fought against his disgust at the girl and even a slight fear as he thought about her cold angry eyes when she admitted to killing Maven. Then, there was still the matter of Freya and Falk that lingered on his conscious. _If I help, it will be for Gallus_, he thought resolutely, pushing his confused feelings for Alor from his mind.

"I think I know where she might be." He finally said. "We'll go as soon as I'm sober."


	30. Dovahkiin

**AN: Please see that I changed the chapter entitled **_**Karliah**_**. Thanks for all the feedback!**

**Chapter 29**

The smell of burning still lingered in her nose despite being miles and miles away from the little patch of wilderness Sibbi and his henchmen had taken her to. It served as a reminder of her carelessness, adding fuel to her already angry soul.

"Stupid!" she shouted to the snow-covered mountain around her as all of her mistakes played before her eyes. She didn't care how cold she was or how the wind bit at the exposed areas in her armor that hadn't escaped the flames. She was angry and confused about everything from the last few days.

"Stupid, careless girl." She muttered again, shuffling up the long path of stone steps. In the distance she heard the howling of wolves and blandly wondered how badly it would hurt if she didn't draw her knives and let the wild dogs kill her. _They're too far off_, she told herself, a tinge of disappointment filling her.

Reaching the top of the ten-thousand steps, she gazed on High Hrothgar, the tall stone building doing nothing for her mood. Plowing through the thick snow, she quickly entered the sanctuary, sprinting through its cold, lonely halls without a word to the monks. _Oblivion take them,_ she cursed upon reaching the courtyard, paying no heed to their calls as she continued up the mountain.

The wind blew fiercly as she journeyed higher, causing her already wet eyes to freeze and rip apart with every blink. As she ascended the last bit of the trail Brynjolf's angry and disgusted face broke through the barrier she had tried to keep him behind, making her chest tighten as a sob formed in her throat.

"Paarthurnax!" she called, her voice booming with the power she swore she would never use after defeating Alduin.

A rumbling noise sounded to her right, followed by the ancient dragon climbing up from the rocks he slept in. "Drem Yel Lok, Dovahkiin." He said in his deep, powerful drawl. "Why have you come to seek me?"

"I don't know." She said, dropping into the snow in front of him, weariness finally setting in.

"Zindro Zii Vokul" he rumbled. "I have heard of your dark deeds, Dovahkiin. Do not think me blind. Sizaan Ko Volum, darkness is a lonely road."

Alor stared up at the dragon, her tears freezing to her face as she thought of Brynjolf and her loss. All of her physical pain from her injuries and the cold were nothing compared to the feeling in her soul.

"Daankin Ahrk Dukaan, doom and dishonor follow you, just like Alduin."

"Like Alduin?" she asked, her mind only half listening to the deep roll of Paarthurnax's voice.

"Yes, like Alduin you destroy, Evenaar Laas Folaas, Dovahkiin. Your soul is not satisfied, lost you are in the darkness."

"My soul is not like his."

"Kah Funt Hokoron, mortal one. You have the soul of a Dov, I know the darkness that plagues you. It is the same as Alduin, the heart of a destroyer, Sil Do Al."

"My soul is not that of a destroyer." She insisted.

"You say this after using the Thu'um to kill mortals, Dovahkiin."

"They were trying to kill me." She said. "It was the only way I could escape."

Paarthurnax let out a rumbling growl, his wings unfurling. "Ahzid Ko Vahzah, bitter is the truth but the soul of a Dov does not lie. Your death was warranted. It is past the time of its defense. Just as Alduin, the world has no place for your darkness."

"I don't know why I came here." Alor spat, standing up in her anger. "I don't know why I felt driven to talk to you. What good are you?"

"I speak the truth, Dovahkiin. Bitter seeds have taken root in your soul but perhaps you are not so lost that some goodness may yet be found."

"What goodness? I'm a killer, a murderer! That's all I am to anyone. Even as the Dragonborn all I did was kill. Kill dragons, kill bandits, kill, kill, kill. That's all I can do! That's all I have ever been able to do. What goodness is there in someone like me?" she cried out, Brynjolf's eyes and his words lingering in her mind.

"Madness and darkness are a part of you. Dinok Ahrk Dukaan, death and darkness are all that will find you should you not find your true path, Dovahkiin."

She stared up at the dragon, feeling his words. _Madness, he doesn't know a thing about it_, she thought to herself and the iron grip her weaknesses had over her. Had it not been for the rage burning in her she knew she would have fallen into the grips of chaos, feeling the drive to kill or sink into a mental prison the likes of which she wouldn't be able to escape. If it were not for her physical pain to keep her mind sharp, many would have died by her hand with Brynjolf's rejection.

_And perhaps my own life would have finally been claimed by Sithis_, she thought, wishing for an end of the pain. "I don't want this anymore, Paarthurnax."

"You have tasted the fruit from a path far from the one you now travel." He rumbled, bobbing his head with his words. "Choose your steps carefully and avoid the fate of darkness, Dovahkiin. Do not ignore who you are by listening to what you have done. Dahmaan Daar Rok, you are as the Dov." He finished, looking at her deeply with his ancient eyes.

Alor nodded and slowly moved back the way she had come. She felt the dragon watching her, inspecting her as he had when they first met. She was not much different then, as she was now, but the world had seemed so much simpler. It was her against everyone, then, but she had tasted what it was like to have someone bonded to her. Brynjolf had opened her eyes to something she thought was impossible. _Love. I could have loved him_.

The thought broke her heart anew as she slipped down the mountain and out of Ivarstead. She felt an intense pain the likes of which she had never known. It didn't drive her into feelings of helplessness and chaos like fear or insecurity did. It didn't even force her hand to release anger through mindless kills. Instead, all she wanted to do was find a corner and cry until the world forgot her. She wanted to disappear and have all of her memories and her heartache vanish with her.

She relived her last few minutes in the Guild, Paarthurnax's words haunting her. _He could never have loved me_, she told herself seeing what others saw for the first time. It was devastating knowledge to have, the kind that filled her with self-loathing and bitterness. Wandering aimlessly, she slowly let her emotions fall from her in a long, heart-wrenching wail.


	31. Pursuit

**AN: Sorry for the wait! I hope to have another up on Friday, if not two more **

**Chapter 30**

The destruction in the forest was unlike anything Brynjolf had ever seen. Even when he had witnessed the power of fire mages he never saw any with the ability to create flames with enough power to destroy the large area that now stood empty save for a vague remains of blackened trees. Turning back to semi-circle of charred corpses, he was unable to even make out who was who. All of their bodies had bent into the fetal position with the extreme heat shortening their muscles and cracking their bones. They were dead long before the fire forced them into that position, though.

"Which one had the ring?" Brynjolf asked as he stared at the blackened lumps of flesh, the smell of cooked meat filling his nostrils and making him his stomach roll uncomfortably.

"That one." Karliah said pointing to one the corpse furthest from the ring of bodies.

Brynjolf shook his head at what remained of Sibbi. "Lucky Maven is dead, otherwise we would all be in trouble." He muttered looking around the circle for ideas of where Alor could have gone. _I hope not to Dawnstar,_ he thought with a shudder, the vampire-child still sending chills through him.

"There are some tracks over here." Karliah called out from the far edge of the destroyed wilderness. "They look like their heading west."

"Nothing west but the mountains." Brynjolf said, joining Karliah and looking down a partial boot print.

"Does she have people in Ivarstead?" the elf asked, her light eyes scanning the horizon for signs of their target.

"I don't know, lass." He replied, rubbing his head. The sun was too hot, the smells were too thick, and his head hurt despite nursing his hangover for nearly two days.

The elf crouched down near the footprint and moved around low on the ground, occasionally picking at a blade of grass or staring at what appeared to be just dirt to the tired Nord. "I say we travel there first and see if we can catch wind of her. Hopefully she hasn't gone too far. She was still injured."

"Whatever you say, lass." He replied, sighing heavily as he thought of the pointless journey. _She's a damned assassin. If she doesn't want to be caught it doesn't matter if we're in the same town or not_.

"Brynjolf, hurry up." Karliah called out, several paces ahead of his sluggish pace.

Begrudgingly, he quickened his pace, his dehydrated muscles screaming at the exertion. "Dunmer women are nothing but trouble." He grumbled as they pressed on towards Ivarstead.

The road was largely empty of travelers, allowing the two thieves to move quickly without distraction. Unfortunately, Brynjolf had hoped that something other than his aching body would have presented itself to occupy his mind. As it was, the light jog did little to erase images of Alor from his mind. Her scarlet eyes and the way they softened when she spoke to him, her thin lips turning into a rare smile, her hard body…_This is for Gallus_, he told himself as shaking the thoughts from his mind. _She's a murderer, you don't want her, you're only looking for her for Gallus._

The lecture, though, did little to drive thoughts of the little elf from his head. It was like her image was burned there for all of eternity; The look of desperation turned to anger, the hurt that peeped from her mask, the cold chill of her voice, it all mixed together making his heart throb in pain and his jaw set in anger.

"Let's start with the inn." Karliah's voice called out, breaking into Brynjolf's jostled thoughts. Looking up, he realized that they had reached Ivarstead and were nearing the little farm on the edge of town.

"Do you really think she would go to the inn?" he asked with a soft snort.

"Its better than anything you have suggested." She snapped at him as she slowed to a fast walk.

_You wouldn't want to go where she might be,_ he thought darkly, the child's laugh filling his mind.

"Wait here." Karliah called back at him as she entered the inn to seek information.

"You won't find anything." He called back, leaning against a nearby fence. _The girl isn't that stupid,_ he thought angrily while he waited. It was only a few minutes before the Dunmer thief reappeared from the small inn, her face in a deep frown. "Let me guess, no trace of the little lass." He said dryly, getting an icy look from his companion.

"The only Dunmer seen coming through went up the steps."

"That wouldn't be Alor." He answered, rising from where he leaned. "She never seemed the religious type."

"Then where would she go?" she asked impatiently. "You knew her. Where would she go after being injured and nearly killed?"

"You tell me where murderers go, Karliah." He said angrily, moving back the way they came. "This is pointless."

"I'm not a murderer, Brynjolf, and I think you realize it, otherwise why did you bother to come with me?"

"I don't know what you are, Karliah. All I know is that Gallus is dead, Mercer is missing, Alor is an assassin, and you're here. I came for Gallus' sake. That doesn't mean I trust you or want to be traveling with you. I want to know what my friend's last thoughts were before _someone_ killed him in some gods-forsaken hole in the wilderness!" he shouted, throwing his hands up in the air.

"I wouldn't have come back if I had killed him, Brynjolf." She said sternly. "I need those journal pages and you said you would help me. So instead of pitying yourself for what happened why don't you do what you came here to do and tell me where you think she may have gone!"

"Fine, you really want to know, lass?" he spat. "She probably is back in Dawnstar with her little vampire friend. Go ahead and see for yourself if you like, but I'm not going back there."

"Dawnstar?"

"Aye, at least that's where she would send…pictures sometimes." He said after a moment, the memory of Alor's anger and embarrassment of not being able to write flashing into life.

"Fine, I'll go to Dawnstar then. You are free to do what you want, Brynjolf. I'll avenge Gallus myself."

_Talos take it,_ he thought as shame started to settle in. _I can't let her go there alone. Gallus would never forgive me_. Trotting up to Karliah who was already walking quickly towards the road, he moved in front of her and forcer her to stop. "I'll go with you, lass, for Gallus' sake. I don't like it and I don't trust you, so just know that any funny business and I won't hesitate to do what I should have done when I saw you at the Bee and Barb."

"Fine." She answered, stepping around him. "But you'll see I'm telling the truth, Brynjolf. Just as soon as we get those pages back."

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It took almost three full days to weave their way around mountains and through the wilderness to Dawnstar. Brynjolf couldn't remember how he had done the journey so fast the time before, but figured it must have been due to his not making camp. Evening was long since passed when they approached a sign pointing to the small town ahead.

"Should we go to the inn?" Karliah asked, her voice weary from traveling.

"No. We go into the wild from here." He answered darkly, drawing his daggers apprehensively. "You might want to ready yourself, lass."

"You're serious about this vampire, aren't you?" she asked, taking out her bow. "I thought that was a joke."

"No." he answered, leading the way through the wilderness. It took a few hours before he began to recognize parts of the rough landscape. _This was where I was when I-_

"You must have a good reason for coming back here, thief." Rang out a sweet, little voice from the darkness. "I didn't think you were a fool when we met."

"Brynjolf, what is this?" Karliah whispered, moving towards the large Nord.

"This, Karliah, is Alor's little vampire friend. Aren't you?" he called out to the approaching child.

"Friend? I like to think of us more like family, but you can call me her associate if it makes you more comfortable." She said with a toothy smile. "Now why have you come back here?" she finished, her voice sounding more adult.

"Alor. Where is she?" Brynjolf asked, his heart pounding wildly.

"I told you last time, she is in Riften. She hasn't been here in some time." The girl answered impatiently.

"She didn't come back." Brynjolf lied, his words sounding smooth and even despite the fear that coursed through him as the girl moved right in front of him.

"Really?" the girl asked, her voice unable to hide her surprise. "What happened?"

"I don't know." Brynjolf lied again, pushing back a swell of anger and remorse that bit at the back of his throat like bile.

The girl gave him a long hard look with her large, childlike eyes. "Do you take pleasure in danger?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Do you enjoy taking risks?"

"I don't see why it matters." He said, getting a sharp look in return.

"I don't see why you are lying to me." She snapped.

Brynjolf felt his daggers heavily in his hands while the girl stared at him, her face souring from its soft perfection. Taking a step back and feeling Karliah next to him did little to help calm his nerves as he looked into the eyes of a hunter that was very close to being tired of playing with her prey.

Brynjolf swallowed hard as he tried to decide whether to continue bluffing or say the truth. _Both will probably end up with me as a midnight snack, _he thought nervously.

"Well?" The girl pressed, putting her hands on her hips in impatience.

"We know she's Brotherhood." Brynjolf blurted out, ignoring the silky lie he had been composing for the girl.

"What makes you think that?"

"She killed Maven Black-Briar and another of ours has gone missing while out with her." He said in a rush.

"Did she?" the girl said with a little smile. "And what do you intend to do about it, thief. This Maven, if I recall, is a noble woman, not a pickpocket and burglar. What does it matter if she is dead?"

"She's our largest contract." He said quickly. "And it matters that Alor has betrayed the trust of the Guild. I have wandered around looking for her while _my family_ suffers. One of my men even died because I was too busy looking for an assassin rather than trying to cure his sickness."

"Rats often die of disease." The girl shrugged, a larger smile playing at her lips. "Now, I've grown tired of this conversation. You come here to my home and want information on _my family_. I don't think I will allow you your unwarranted revenge, thief." She finished moving forward.

"Wait!" Karliah yelled out, her eyes wide in fright. "We don't want revenge, we just need to find her to get back some documents she took."

"Documents? She can't even read!" the girl laughed. "Believe me, I know. I have tried to teach her on more than one occasion."

"She didn't take them to read." Brynjolf said. "She had them for a job. She had them with her when she left. We need them back."

The girl looked at them for a long time, her face subtly changing with her thoughts until it became gentle once more. "At least you aren't lying to me."

"That's the truth." Karliah said reassuringly.

"And she is quite capable of dealing with two little daggers and a few arrows, should the need arise." The girl continued, ignoring the Dunmer's comments. "So few interesting things seem to happen these days." She muttered to herself before looking up and smiling at the two thieves.

"So you'll tell us where she is?" Brynjolf asked hopefully.

"Where have you looked?"

"We followed her trail to Ivarstead, but found nothing." Karliah answered.

The girl let out a little laugh. "Ivarstead! Really? Now _that_ is interesting."

"Why?" Brynjolf asked, his curiosity overcoming his waning fear.

"Oh it's nothing. If she did go to Ivarstead, I don't very well know where she would go next. Windhelm, perhaps? Or Solitude? Ha! This is all so strange!"

"Where would she go if she went to those cities?" Brynjolf pressed.

"I should think her house!" the girl said with a little laugh, her eyes sparkling with the amusement. "She only has four or five of them!"

"What are you talking about." He asked, gripping his knife harder. "She never said anything about a house."

"Ah, yes, she does take a while to tell her secrets, doesn't she." the vampire giggled. "But I'm surprised she didn't mention anything to _you!_ After all, she has been doing very strange things just to spend more time down in those sewers of yours. I have barely had the chance to speak with her since she left us."

_What is this little demon talking about?_ Brynjolf thought in confusion. The feeling must have moved to his face since the vampire-child started laughing again, this time much more forcefully.

"Go to Solitude, that is the most likely place." She said once she finally calmed herself. "Just know, that you will be watched. We did not take a member of your _guild_ and we will not allow you to take an unjustifiable revenge on us." She finished darkly, walking away from them.

"Solitude?" Brynjolf called out to the girl. "Where in Solitude?"

"You're the thief," she laughed back. "Use your contacts and figure it out!"

Brynjolf and Karliah stood still, watching the girl disappear silently into the darkness. For the second time in a few days the tall Nord felt like he just narrowly escaped a very bad situation. Moving from the woods and back towards the road, the thieves remained silent until they had paid for rooms at the inn and were settled in a nice, dark corner far from listening ears.

"I hope you got all the information you need, lass. I am not going back into that bloody woods again." Brynjolf said over the large drink he had ordered himself. "I'm tired of having my life threatened over things that aren't even my problems."

"This is your problem, Brynjolf. Mercer and the Guild are your problem. And so is the girl so long as she has Gallus' journal."

"I swear to Talos, if that journal doesn't say what you think it does –" he started before the elf held her hand up to stop him.

"It will."

"It better. I will not be played the fool here, lass." He said standing. "I will see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Brynjolf." She answered as he shuffled off to his room.

_Why am I doing this?_ He asked himself again as he shut and locked his door, not fully trusting that the vampire-child wasn't lurking somewhere nearby ready to attack. Flopping onto his bed, he felt his muscles ache after the long day of traveling. Rubbing his leg thoughtlessly, he cursed himself for being so stupid and allowing Karliah and Alor to cause him to doubt what he thought he knew for years. _Karliah killed Gallus_, he thought again, _this is just some trick to destroy the Guild._

The idea sounded ridiculous even as he thought it, but he stubbornly held on to it. Somewhere, deep down, though, he knew that if Karliah had killed her lover so mercilessly she wouldn't have bothered proclaiming her innocence. Not when Mercer was missing and she could easily get into the Guild to do whatever it was she was planning to do. _But why would Mercer kill Gallus?_

That was a harder question. Karliah maintained that Gallus was on to Mercer doing something to the Guild. Brynjolf wasn't sure how accurate _that_ was, but it was beginning to seem more and more likely that Karliah was at least telling a partial truth since Mercer was still missing. _Or dead._ He thought, his mind returning to Alor.

Immediately pain set in as her name whispered inside his head. At first he felt anger towards the murderer who had killed someone in his family. It didn't matter that he despised Freya and hadn't spoken to Falk in years. She had still killed them. _She killed them for me_, he thought completely sickened by the idea. _Two people died because of me_.

It took a long time before he was able to move beyond that thought, the guilt and anger rolling in his stomach like a crippling disease. Still, even at the lowest point, the occasional image of the little elf laughing or the memory of how her lips felt on his would slip into his thoughts and sting with a pang of sadness.

Shutting his eyes tightly against a building wetness, he vainly attempted to push her from his mind. "Why did you have to do this, lass?" he whispered out into the darkness. "Why?"


	32. Where are you Sithis?

**AN: Sorry for not having this up last night. My boyfriend demanded that I be social instead of staying in…**

**Chapter 31**

The abandoned shack that had marked her initiation into the Brotherhood did little to shut out the cold. It also had little in the ways of food or drink, but Alor didn't care. Food was the last thing on her mind despite the loud rumbles of her stomach. Even the dull throbs from her poorly tended wounds were unable to draw much attention from her as her mind was focused on her own reflection from a dull silver plate, trying to find some sort of identity beyond that of an assassin.

She had never questioned her desire for blood and need for power before. Her first kill was justified, as were the next dozen. Soon, life lost its value and a sharp blade from a dark corner seemed like a normal life. Besides, the life of an assassin had never been frowned upon in her family. Even her grandfather would tell her stories of the Brotherhood and the Lucky Old Lady followed by tales of one of the Alor family's most prized members, Banus Alor, who was a Speaker for the Black Hand.

Yet, after seeing Brynjolf's face and knowing that he despised her, she was shaken in her acceptance of her role as a killer. The pain of his rejection had reached her deeper than anything else had and she couldn't make sense of it, so she had wandered; Wandered straight up to High Hrothgar to speak to someone she had sworn to never speak to again. She had even used the language of the Dov, shouting herself free from her captors. The power contained in the Voice had caused things to stir in her that she had so desperately buried behind a mask and a sharp knife.

Yet, with the ancient dragon's words her heart was far from healed and her mind far from comforted. The echo of Paarthurnax's assessment resounded in her head, adding to the feelings of disgust that Brynjolf had left in her. Lost in her sadness and confusion, she had wandered again and found herself in the familiar little shack, alone in the wilderness. There she had taken up roost and had stared at her own, dead eyes trying to see what Paarthurnax had hinted at.

"There's nothing!" she shouted after hours of her study, throwing aside the plate in frustration. _But Brynjolf saw something_, a voice buzzed in her head.

"He saw lies." She hissed to the empty room, tears threatening to come loose.

Sinking to the floor she lightly touched her side, thinking of Brynjolf's hand holding hers in his sleep as he sat by her sickbed. He was one of two people who had ever cared for her without some ulterior motive. Had the same situation occurred near the Brotherhood sanctuary, her fellow assassins would have cleaned the wound and left her to whatever fate would have come. Brynjolf, though, hadn't done that. He didn't just patch her up and wash his hands of her, but had stayed with her, cared for her, worried about her selflessly. He genuinely felt something for her that was beyond the bond of being a member of the Guild. _Until he found out who I really was,_ she thought, her face becoming suddenly wet with hot tears.

Curling into a small ball on the floor, she let her emotion leave her in loud, wet sobs, her heart aching for the man she had lost. Unlike any of the pain she had suffered in the past, she didn't feel the urge to kill to regain control of the unpredictable and chaotic world. Instead she found herself wishing for the darkness to take her, for the world to swallow her up whole in either death or madness. Anything that would take away the emptiness she felt.

"Why won't it end?" she choked out, her throat tightening with each heaving sob. Clutching at her chest she felt her heartache spasm through her leaving only the deep void that had filled her soul. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for Sithis to take her, demanding a release from the complete loneliness and loss that had claimed her. Yet, he did not answer. The empty agony of a broken heart continued to ravish her mind, heart, and soul without mercy.

"Why won't Sithis answer my prayers?" She yelled out, more hot tears falling from her eyes. "Why won't he claim me?"

_ Because he is nothing,_ she thought suddenly, her eyes snapping open. The heaviness of the words settled uncomfortably within her. Sithis, the empty void, was just that, an empty nothingness. Alor shivered with the thought, her tears pooling in her eyes as uncertainty of her pseudo-religion filled her mind.

_If not Sithis, what else is there?_ She thought, the cold of the shack stinging at her wet cheeks.

As if to answer, the odd sensation she had felt after using the Thu'um resounded through her. It was familiar and foreign all at once as the voices of the dragons she had killed whispered in her ears. For years she had ignored their calls, pushed back their voices as they pulled at her to claim the power that was her birthright. Closing her eyes, Alor let the soothing vibration fill the emptiness in her while her mind let go of some of her hatred and rage. 

"Lost Dovah Sil" she whispered out, the souls of those that died at her hand singing out. "I have the soul of a dragon."

It was the first time since becoming _the Dovahkiin_ that she realized what that power meant. It wasn't a status or honor, it was who she was and always would be. All it took was awakening to the call of the dragon blood inside her and listening to the song of those that were now a part of her.

Opening her scarlet eyes, Alor felt a strange energy fill her and was oddly comforted. Standing stiffly, she looked around the ruined shack as if for the first time. How she had felt comforted in the run-down building, she didn't know. _It's time to go home_, she thought as she walked out the door and began a journey northwest.


	33. Proudspire Manor

**Chapter 32**

Brynjolf and Karliah had reached Solitude without incident. A tense silence had begun to build between them as the days stretched out without any sign of Alor. Karliah seemed to be growing more and more anxious about the journal pages the little elf had taken, while Brynjolf continued to doubt his choice of helping the alleged murderer of his friend, Gallus.

_If she's not in Solitude I'm done,_ he had told himself as he quickly scribbled out a note for Delvin and Vex and sent a courier to Riften. _No more shirking my responsibilities_. It was a promise he intended to keep, giving them only five days to scour the city for the small Dunmer woman before he would leave for his home.

The first day, the two thieves spent searching the poorer parts of town, including the sewers underneath the large capital city. They were directed to a few Dunmer women in the area, but none were Alor. Karliah grew more demanding while Brynjolf became bitter towards the entire search, feeling that he was wrong to not be at the Guild for such a long period of time.

The second day they searched the more moderate neighborhoods, asking if anyone had seen any trace of a Dunmer woman who might own a house in the area. No one seemed to know of anyone that fit the description of Alor, making the day a complete waste of time. The Nord had returned to the inn that night and drowned his frustrations in mead.

The morning had come hard and fast, rousing the groggy Nord from his restless sleep. _Three days already,_ Brynjolf thought from the edge of his bed, the likelihood of finding Alor in the city growing slimmer by the moment. They only had the richer neighborhoods left to search and the Nord doubted that they would find the assassin there. _She's gone, Bryn,_ he told himself, unsure if it was to ease the pain in his chest or to convince him to give up the search early and return home. _Just get through today and then decide what to do_.

Listening to his advice, Brynjolf quickly washed himself and slipped into his fancy attire. Running a brush through his shoulder length hair, he made himself look like the nobleman that he was born to be. Looking in the mirror, he sighed at the dark circles under his eyes and the pallor of his skin. He wasn't sleeping well and it was starting to show. _Just get through today,_ he told himself again as he trimmed his facial hair so that it was a tidy patch on his nose and chin. Looking at himself with some satisfaction, he slipped his daggers into his belt and made his way to meet Karliah.

"Are you ready?" she called out from a table scattered with food.

Brynjolf smiled at her uncomfortable posture after he insisted she dress like a noblewoman instead of a mercenary. Most of the rich in Solitude would simply ignore a ruffian if not alert the guard to a suspicious character asking questions. _But they won't bat an eye to gossip with another noble_, he thought with a smile as he grabbed a sweetroll and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Yo Loo Niice" he said through large bites which he washed down with a large pint of mead. "Which unfortunate merchant do we have to thank for making you look presentable?"

"Does it matter?" Karliah replied, pulling at the collar of her green finery.

"I suppose it doesn't." He replied, finishing his drink with a satisfied smile. "Shall we continue the search?"

"Yes." She replied, standing quickly and moving towards the door. "I've already asked the innkeeper about the people that live around here. Seems it's mainly Nords and a few Imperials."

"Doesn't sound promising, lass." He said, blinking rapidly at the bright light of midmorning. "How do you want to divide it today?"

"I'll take the right side of the main road and you take the left. We'll meet by the Blue Palace around dinner."

"Fine." He said, moving towards his allotted territory without much hope of turning up anything.

From the Winking Skeever the first few places were the more established shops. First, he stopped at Angeline's Aromatics and came up with nothing. He had talked to the blacksmith the day before so continued down the street, smiling pleasantly at those that passed them, asking politely if they knew where a Dunmer noblewoman lived. All of them had shaken their heads, no, saying that they didn't know of anyone by that description. _Not a surprise, _Brynjolf thought after the sixth person he stopped pled ignorance to knowing a Dunmer noblewoman.

It was late afternoon when the Blue Palace began to loom into sight. _Only a few more houses left,_ he told himself before deciding he might as well find some lunch. Moving towards the stalls, he began looking over the various wares seeing which merchant would be the least likely to notice if some of their food was missing.

"Afternoon, kinsmen." Came a deep, Nordic voice from a nearby stall. "Looking for some fish?"

"Not right now." He answered kindly giving a smile to the man.

"You passing through? Haven't seen you around before." The merchant persisted his scowl lifting with the easy talk.

"Aye, I'm trying to find someone who use to do business with my family." He lied, eyeing some jerky and fruit longingly. "I was hoping to reestablish our business relationship."

"Who are you looking for? I might be able to help." The man continued, flashing a toothy grin.

"She's a Dunmer. She use to have a house in the area." Brynjolf answered, turning quickly while his hand slipped some of the food from the fruit vendors cart into his pocket.

The man frowned for a minute. "Not sure I've seen anyone like that. Might have moved on."

"That is becoming very apparent." Brynjolf laughed, moving closer to the fish-vendor, his hand easily pocketing some jerky and bread.

"Only places to try would be Vittoria Vici's house and Proudspire."

"Oh?" the fiery Nord asked feigning interest. "Why there?"

The fisherman waved for Brynjolf to move closer before whispering, "That old Imperial, Vittoria, only lived in her house for two years before she died. Can't remember who owned it before her, but you might be able to find out something from the Palace. Then there's Proudspire Manor. No one really knows who owns it, but High King Ulfric makes sure that no one disturbs it. Guard keeps folks away and from asking too many questions."

"And it might be my Dunmer that lives there." Brynjolf said, receiving a smile from the eager looking man. Fishing a coin out of his pocket, he handed it to the fisherman and moved away. "Thanks for the information." He said, holding his head up like a nobleman.

The merchant didn't answer, as he was too busy stashing away the precious gold while Brynjolf found a quiet spot off the road to sit and enjoy his stolen lunch. Looking around, he watched to see if anyone passed that he had not already spoken to. _I've talked to everyone_, he thought as the same Nord woman passed for the fifth time.

Brushing the crumbs from his facial hair, he stood and stretched. "I'll just finish with the houses and wait by the Blue Palace. No point in dragging this out any longer than it already has." He finished, a twinge of sadness lining his voice at the thought of the elf.

_Stop thinking about her_, he ordered himself as he moved towards a large manor after his mind flashed to one of their more intimate moments. _You're finding her for the journal pages, nothing more. _

Yet, the all too familiar words did little to drive Alor from his mind as he climbed the stone steps towards the first of two large stone manors. Knocking heavily on the door, he managed to force his mouth into a friendly sort of grin as he waited. Nothing.

Looking around, he saw a small boy running around. "You, lad!" he called out. "Do you know who lives here?"

"No one." He called back, looking at Brynjolf with a funny grin. "Don't you know it's haunted? The old lady that lived there was killed by an assassin and her ghost haunts the house!"

"I see." Brynjolf answered as the boy ran off. _Guess I'll just have to let myself in_, he thought as he waited for the guard to pass. Slipping in a lockpick, he quickly sprang the lock open slipped into the house. It was cold and dusty after clearly being empty for some time. "Guess the lad was right about no one living here." He muttered as he quickly searched the rooms. _Nothing_.

Creeping back outside, he realized that he only had one house left before reaching the Bards College and the palace. _Talos, I would have this house_, he cursed as he recognized the ornate door that he had broken into earlier that year. He debated whether to break into the house again, but he reassured himself that it was empty and couldn't possibly be owned by the Dragonborn. _It was just a coincidence that I found that mask there. Nothing more,_ he thought as he took a deep breath he pushed his lockpick into the door. It opened silently, letting him slip in before the patrol passed on their rounds and shut it without a sound.

_She's not here, Bryn. You don't even need to look around,_ he thought as he moved through the familiar entry of the home. Little had changed from when he was here last. The same chests lining the walls sat waiting to be opened, dead flowers filled vases on various shelves and tables. The only thing that was different was the empty space that had held the mask he had stolen and sold for a massive amount of gold.

_No one is here_, he thought as he moved up the flight of stairs and crept down the hall. Pushing a nearby door open, he immediately was struck by the disheveled nature of the bed and various items strewn about the room. _Did I come into this room last time?_ He asked just as a loud thud came from a room further down.

_Oh gods! Someone is in here!_ He thought, his eyes darting around as some more noises rang out followed by a door opening. Slipping into the bedroom, he crawled under the bed as footsteps approached the messy room.

From his vantage, he could see a set of armor-clad feet appear in the doorway, the green color of the glass marking it as foreign. Brynjolf held his breath as the feet moved closer to the bed, a gloved hand dropping into view as it picked up a boot laying on the floor. _Talos, what have I gotten myself into?_ The Nord thought as the mysterious owner moved about their room without a care. _Leave already, just leave!_ He repeated as the feet moved in front of his view again.

He heard a drawer slide open and some things be roughly shoved inside before it slammed shut again. He watched in horror as the feet moved towards the bed, turning as the person sat on the thick mattress, letting out a small sigh. Brynjolf felt the bed slump down towards him, the dust from the floor flying around with the motion and tickling his nose. He tried to ignore the itching sensation that started up his throat, wiggling his nose desperately as he felt his nose tingle uncomfortably. His heart dropped as he stared at the boots in front of him and the pressure began to build behind his nose. Squeezing his eyes shut, he vainly attempted to stop himself as a small sneeze escaped his body.

The boots moved amazingly fast, their owner standing from the bed and moving a few steps away. _This is not good,_ he thought as he heard the distinct sound of a sword being drawn, his hands desperately groping for his own daggers that were pressing uncomfortably into his stomach. Shifting his body, he was just barely able to wrap his fingers around one of his blades when the boots moved forward and kicked at the wooden base of the bed, moving it just enough to expose Brynjolf's head.

Brynjolf pulled himself up, the right hand holding a dagger while the left made a desperate grab at the other. Yet, his motions stopped as he stared at the armed woman before him. She wore strange glass armor that shimmered green like her boots. Her hands were fully gloved and holding a dagger and a short sword ready to attack. Yet, it was the green mask that held his gaze and stopped his frantic motions.

"You're the Dragonborn!" he gasped as he stared at a mask almost identical to the one he had stolen. It had only slits for eyes and the nose with a small opening for the mouth craved into a deep frown. There wasn't a scratch on this mask, unlike the one he had sold, but instead half of the face was scorched, the green coloring burned grey. The woman continued to look at him, ignoring his comment and his gaping stare.

Brynjolf looked at the hero of Skyrim, his shame and guilt rising after breaking into what was clearly the Dragonborn's house for a second time. "I'm sorry." He sputtered out, his eyes falling to the floor in shame. "I thought the house was abandoned, I would have never come had I known-"

The woman stopped him midsentence, holding her hand up as she sheathed her weapons. Brynjolf stared at her, unsure of what to do. "I-I can go?"

The Dragonborn didn't move, the small slits of her mask boring into him as he stood there. "I'm sorry." He said again, moving past the statuesque woman and down the stairs. He heard her move from the room and felt her eyes on his back as he quickly pulled open the door and ran out into the cool evening air of Solitude.

"Talos!" he exclaimed, his hands grabbing at his hair in a frenzy. "That was the Dragonborn. I broke into the Dragonborn's house. I _stole_ from the Dragonborn."

Jogging to the Blue Palace, he shuddered thinking about the cold mask, the blank stare from its emotionless face judging him for his audacity at breaking into the Dragonborn's home. He didn't know why the slayer of dragons didn't claim his life and he didn't care. All he knew is that for some reason the most powerful warrior in Skyrim had shown mercy and allowed him to leave without so much as a word. _I'm leaving Solitude in the morning_, he thought as he approached the Blue Palace. _Talos help me, I will never come back to this city again!_


	34. A Child's Advice

**Chapter 33**

Alor watched in disbelief as Brynjolf looked at her, unable to recognize his former lover under the mask of Rahgot. A deep pain stabbed into her while he looked at her with admiration and shame, his confident voice unable to remain steady with his weak apologies. She was unable to speak as he darted from the room and back out into Solitude, her body aching to be near him again.

She stood at the top of the stairs for a long time, staring at the door, wishing he would come back, but the house remained silent. Pulling the mask from her face, she moved back into the bedroom and sank onto the bed. _He despises me but admires the Dragonborn_, she thought bitterly, her hands moving over the smooth surface of her mask.

She had only been in Solitude for one night and had planned to go to the Blue Palace and attempt some sort of life as the Dragonborn, but Brynjolf's unexpected appearance had taken all of her energy and conviction from her, leaving her with only her sadness.

A small little noise from the window pulled her attention from her thoughts, her heart beating rapidly as the familiar face of Babette appeared smiling. Opening the thick glass panels for her friend, she stared at the little girl in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"Making sure you didn't get yourself killed. It would be bad for the Brotherhood should we lose our Listener." The vampire said, brushing off her dirty skirt and cloak roughly. "I nearly burned to death out there. You really should put in more trees around this place."

"How did you know I was even here?" Alor asked, millions of other questions pulling at her lips. "And why did you think I was going to be killed?"

The little girl laughed, flopping down on the bed with child-like enthusiasm. "After your thief friends said you didn't return to Riften I knew you would probably be here. What better place to hide than in a crowded city where no one knows your face?"

"My thief friends?"

"Oh, yes. That tall, handsome Nord and odd Dunmer came and saw me in Dawnstar. They were looking for you. The Nord did not seem too friendly this time, though."

"What do you mean _this time_?" Alor asked, giving the vampire a strange look. "You've spoken with them before? How did they even know where you were?"

Babette's face moved into confusion, her brow wrinkling and the corners of her mouth pulling down. "The Nord said he was with you went you sent a letter to us. He came after you were missing on some sort of mission with another thief."

_Mercer,_ Alor thought, a cool fury burning deep in her stomach. "And you told him I was here?"

"No, the first time I told the Nord that you were in Riften, which I thought you were." Babette answered. "The second time he came with the Dunmer and said he knew you were an assassin. I almost killed him right there, but he wasn't even talking about that Niruin you killed but some Maven woman! I nearly laughed when he mentioned a thief had died of a _mysterious_ illness!"

"I gave him too much of the second potion." Alor said lightly, her mind trying to process everything that Babette was telling her. "But that still doesn't answer why he was here."

"They said you had some sort of documents that they needed. That Nord was just so deliciously sad looking that I decided to see what happened. You do know how dull Dawnstar can be."

"So they were looking for me to get back some documents?" Alor asked, receiving an enthusiastic nod. "And you're here because you thought that they might have killed me."

"Exactly. Cicero would be very cross if my little chat with the thieves led to you being stabbed."

Alor felt like laughing and screaming all at once. The entire situation was beyond her grasp in her current state, the shock of seeing Brynjolf making everything a confused mess. "Then Brynjolf shows up here looking for me and finds the Dragonborn."

"Yes, it was quite comical." Babette smiled. "The way he ran out of here like a scolded child."

Alor gave the vampire a quick look, her child's face holding none of the soft innocence of youth. "What sort of mess have I gotten myself into?"

"I was curious about that as well." Babette said with a small grin. "You have been acting strange lately, although if that Nord is involved, I can see why. Still it's not like you to be caught during a contract."

"I don't know how they caught me!" the Listener snapped, her frustration building. "The Night Mother said to kill Maven, so I did. I didn't think anyone saw me."

"Yes, well that happens to everyone occasionally." The vampire replied. "Even I have been spotted now and again. But that's beside the point. I'm more interested in you hiding out here in Solitude, wearing that mask again. I thought you were done playing the part of the dragon killing hero."

Alor looked at the Dragon Priest mask that, along with its brothers, had concealed her identity as the Dragonborn. Her soul stirred as her fingers grazed the cold metal, the power within her drowning out all other feelings. "It just felt right." She finally muttered, giving a sideways glance at the smiling child.

"That _is _interesting." Babette said, a strange look covering her face. "Then perhaps it's time that you go get the names of the rest of the Speakers."

"What do you mean?"

"You're time is up." Babette said sadly. "You don't have that fire in your eyes anymore."

Alor frowned. "I don't understand."

The vampire-child sighed. "Do you know why Nazir deals with all the new members of the Brotherhood, giving out contracts rather than taking them?"

"No, why?"

"Because he lost his thirst for blood years ago." Babette answered quickly. "Killing lost its excitement, he didn't feel driven to do it anymore. So he found himself a role that would be challenging and only kills when he wants to."

"I'm not Nazir."

"No, you're not." The girl continued. "Nazir started killing because he was a mercenary and the money was good. You started killing for a very different reason. You didn't care about the money. All you wanted was blood and that's what made you so good. Even Astrid talked about it, although she thought you were slightly insane."

"She did?"

"Of course she did, well until Cicero showed up. He is most definitely insane! Anyone will start to look normal with him around! Even you!" she said laughing.

The vampire's words stirred memories of the last decade of Alor's life, a shudder running through her at all the occasions her mind fell into darkness and her knife was the only means of escaping the mental chaos. "Maybe I am insane." Alor said darkly, her eyes seeing herself more clearly than they had since her childhood.

Babette shrugged. "Perhaps, but whatever it was that made you so good is gone now. You don't have that look in your eyes. I can tell that you're done as a regular."

"I still don't know what you mean, Babette." Alor pressed.

"I don't know what those thieves did to you, but you lost your fire. I saw it when you came back to the Sanctuary talking about Speakers. I have to admit, I thought you would slow down long before now. Most can't maintain the numbers you did for much longer than a year or two!"

"That's nonsense, Babette. Look at Cicero or even Arnbjorn. They relished in their work. Even you haven't grown tired of it and you've been doing this for how many hundreds of years?"

"I kill because I can feed that way. Arnbjorn was the same way, Alor. Vampire's and Werewolfs aren't that different. As for Cicero, well he could have refused to become a Keeper, but even he knew it was time to get out of the heavy work. If he didn't go insane afterwards he would tell you the same. Astrid slowed down on her contracts to become our leader, Festus puttered about his potions, and even Gabriella hadn't taken out a contract in months before she died. Everyone slows down, Alor. You were the exception until you met that man. There is no shame in it." The girl finished, patting Alor's hand lightly.

"But I have a duty to the Brotherhood." The Dunmer said staunchly.

"That is true, but you were right about us needing Speakers. An organization like ours doesn't survive if we work our people to death. Hierarchy is essential and you're already in a position that gives you the freedom to slow down. All you have to do is listen and do a contract or two as you see fit. That's what it was like, at least, when I first joined the Brotherhood. You don't need to be completing over half our contracts single-handedly anymore."

"So what are you saying, Babette? I'm free to leave the Brotherhood and do what, exactly?" Alor said bitterly, her temper rising. "It's not like I'm welcome with the Thieves Guild anymore and this whole Dragonborn thing, well I don't know where that would even take me."

Babette let out a small laugh, her eyes dancing with amusement. "You are a stubborn elf. That Nord of yours has spent three days looking for you in Solitude plus however many more since whatever happened, happened. We have plenty of contracts for now, why are you sitting here talking to me and not living your life a little? Not all of us have the luxury to have some romance." She finished bitterly.

Alor stared at her blankly, the idea that Brynjolf was searching for her had never really occurred to her. _I have something Karliah wants, but why is Brynjolf helping her to find me? It has to be more than just the journal._ Hope started to rise in her, the whispers of the dragon souls rising and re-energizing her. "Babette, you can stay here if you like, but I'm going out."

The little girl smiled brightly, her sharp teeth glimmering sinisterly in the dim candlelight. "Oh, good! Just be sure to come back to the Sanctuary at some point otherwise Cicero may drive me to kill him."

Alor gave the vampire a quick smile before the child stood and moved towards the door. "And, Alor, don't go back to being half-mad. I prefer you like this." The girl finished before slipping out of the house and into the darkness.

"Thank you." The Listener muttered to the closed door, her heart feeling lighter than it had since arriving in Solitude.

Moving back to her room, Alor started to form a plan of what she was going to do. First, she found her destroyed assassin's gear and pulled out the crumpled papers from where she had shoved them days ago. Then she opened up an old chest, pulling out a blue velvet dress that she had managed to secure from Cyrodiil. She had never worn it but always had seen the ladies in the Imperial City gliding about in similar things and had desired it for herself. Pulling off her armor and slipping it on, she quickly brushed her long, black hair and braided only part of it, letting the rest hang loose. Strapping a belt with a sword and three knives to her side, she threw on a heavy cloak and moved towards the door, her heart racing in her chest.

It was one of the few times she had faced uncertainty with a level of restraint and anticipation. Walking briskly towards the Winking Skeever she was ready to face the one person she desired more than anything.


	35. A Bitter Reunion

**AN: Won't be able to post for a day or two, so wanted to get this out there quick :) Hopefully I didn't miss too many of the typos...**

**Chapter 34**

The night was thick by the time Karliah showed up at the Blue Palace. Brynjolf had spent the better part of two hours pacing the courtyard cursing himself for his stupidity after wronging the Dragonborn. The guilt only added to his foul mood that had been brewing ever since they started the journey. He desperately needed a drink.

"About time you get here." He spat at the Dunmer woman, walking quickly back towards the inn without waiting for her to respond.

"I take it that means you didn't find the girl?" Karliah replied, trotting to keep up with the Nord's long strides.

"No. I didn't." he growled, moving faster so that the Dunmer was practically jogging to stay next to him.

"I didn't find her either." She breathed out heavily. "Will you slow down?"

"No. I need a drink." He said, speeding up to emphasize the point.

Karliah slowed, snorting her disapproval as Brynjolf trotted ahead. "Fine, I'll just meet you there."

Brynjolf grunted as he continued forward, cursing Karliah and the journey for all the good it had brought him. By the time he reached the Winking Skeever, his cheeks were flushed and his brow damp with sweat. Wiping it carelessly on his sleeve, he marched straight the man tending the bar.

"I need four ales, as big as you got." He said, slamming some coin onto the counter.

"Are you feeling sick?" the man Brynjolf had heard referred to as Corpulus asked, eyeing the red-haired Nord carefully. "You don't look so good."

"Just give me the damn drinks and keep your questions!" he growled, the emotional upheaval bring out his anger.

"Alright, alright. I don't need trouble here."

"Pour and you won't have any, lad." Brynjolf answered, grabbing up the four drinks the Imperial had prepared for him. Weaving his way around the crowded inn to an empty table, he gently set his drinks down and began to work his way through the smooth liquid while ignoring the world around him. He didn't even bother to look up from his mug when the chair across from scraped away from the table, assuming that Karliah had made it back to the inn.

"You really shouldn't drink like that." Came a familiar voice, disapproval lining her words.

Brynjolf felt himself choke on his drink at the voice, setting the mug down quickly to see Alor sitting across from him. For a moment, he didn't know what to say as he took in her strange and beautiful appearance. She wasn't wearing her mask, or even armor for that matter. Instead, she was in some sort of strange blue dress that was cut low in the front and covered with ornate embroidery. The utter foreignness of the garb added to the exotic look it gave to the Dunmer, who had left her long hair free from its normal braid. He found himself overlooking her thin lips and pale cheeks as his blue eyes locked onto her shining red orbs, an odd assortment of emotions meeting his gaze.

As the shock wore off, though, the brief excitement he felt upon seeing her was replaced by a cold anger. All of his guilt over the murders in his family, along with the untimely death of Niruin struck him, mixing with the shame he still felt over what had transpired that afternoon. He felt his jaw clench and his eyes narrow as he gripped his second drink tightly. "You have a lot of nerve showing your face in here, lass."

Her face remained blank, but he noticed that her muscles stiffened at his words. "I thought I would save you the trouble of looking for me."

"What makes you think that I would be looking for _you_?" he hissed, feeling a bitter satisfaction at the brief look of hurt that crossed her face.

"Babette had mentioned that you were."

"Who in Talos' name is Babette?" he spat, finishing half of his mug in two large gulps.

"Don't act ignorant. She told me you found her in Dawnstar." Alor replied quickly.

_The vampire girl_, Brynjolf thought with a shiver. "So, you've been with your little murderer friends in Dawnstar, eh?" he said angrily.

"No. Babette found me here. In fact, I saw you today but you just didn't notice me." She answered carefully. "I haven't been back to Dawnstar since before I left with Mercer."

"Doesn't mean you haven't been killing, though, does it lass?" he said darkly, his eyes glaring at hers.

Brynjolf was surprised to see her shift uncomfortably, her gaze locked to the floor unable to meet his as if she were ashamed. _Too little too late,_ he thought angrily as the description of Freya and Falk filled his head. "I should go to the guard right now and tell them it was you that killed Elisif's old steward. Tell them it was you that cut his wife apart and defiled her corpse."

"They deserved to die." She said bluntly, her eyes shooting up to his in anger. "And don't you deny that. After what she did to you, she deserved everything I gave her."

Brynjolf felt his anger fall over the edge into fury. Slamming his drink down he leaned across the table and roughly grabbed the elf by her neck, pulling her towards him. "_They. Were. My. Family._" He hissed, his mouth only inches from her face. "No matter what they did I would _NEVER_ have wished on them what you did! You disgust me." He finished, throwing her back and falling into his seat.

Alor's eyes filled with tears, her lips quivering as she struggled to compose herself. He could see the pain in her eyes, but he didn't care. He wanted to hurt her like she had hurt him with her lies and evil actions. She didn't deserve his pity, trust, or affection.

"Brynjolf, I-" she started, but stop short as Karliah suddenly appeared at their table.

"You found her!" she said happily, before noticing the strained looks on the two thieves' faces.

"She's all yours, Karliah." Brynjolf said rising to his feet and draining his third drink. "I'll be at the bar if you need me."

Moving away from the two women, he heard Karliah immediately start asking Alor about the journal pages, but he just didn't care anymore. "Give me four more." He said to Corpulus, ignoring the skeptical look the man gave him.

"Ease up a little." The Imperial said, setting the drinks down in front of him.

"How about you let me drink and I give you money without any of the chatter." He snapped, wishing he were back in the Flagon where Vekel wouldn't have given him any gruff about how much he drank. Corpulus walked away, muttering under his breath about drunken Nords. Brynjolf sighed as he moved a drink to his lips and let it slide down his throat with a cool, burning sensation. He did the same with his next drink and the next, stubbornly ignoring Karliah's careful approach.

"She still has the pages from Gallus' journal." She said, Brynjolf glaring at her for the interruption. "But we still need to get them translated in Markarth. My contact says a mage named Calcelmo might be able to do it, but won't be very willing to share his knowledge of the language Gallus wrote it in."

"Sounds like a it's going to be a headache for you." He slurred, his body burning with the liquor.

"Aren't you going to be coming with me?" she asked, her disappointed words mattering little to him in his drunken state.

"No. This isn't my problem anymore. You found Alor, you have your journal. What more do you want from me?"

"I want you to finish doing what you promised me you would." She replied sternly. "I want you to help me avenge Gallus and see what Mercer has really been up to."

"I'm needed back at the Guild."

"The Guild needs you to learn the truth more than it needs you there. Four more days, Brynjolf, that's all I need."

"That's barely enough time to get to Markarth and then back to Riften." He laughed. "Do you think you're that good that you can convince this mage to help you even when your contact says it will be difficult?"

"Your girl said she knew a way to avoid any difficulties." Karliah said slowly, her body stiffening in apprehension as Brynjolf absorbed her words.

"You mean Alor is going to Markarth?" he asked, his drunken mind unsure of how to react.

"Yes. She said she knew people there that would be able to help get us what we need."

"If you have her why do I need to come?" Brynjolf asked, spilling some of his final drink down his front.

"Besides the fact that you said you would help me, because you need to see the true reason behind the Guild's misfortunes."

Karliah's words stung at him, playing off his emotions for his beloved organization. "Fine. I'll come." He said, standing up unsteadily from the stool he had been perched on. "But only for four days."

"Good. I'll send a letter to my contact to meet us in Markarth to cut down on the traveling." She said quickly. "Alor said to meet her outside of the gates at dawn. Be sure you're ready."

"Whatever you say, lass." He muttered, wobbling his way from the bar and towards his room. It was with great effort that he opened his door and fell into his bed, sleeping thankfully claiming his drunken mind almost immediately.


	36. The Journey to Markarth

**AN: I already have the next chapter done. It will be up later tonight/tomorrow**

**Chapter 35**

Alor had left the tavern as soon as she had convinced Karliah to let her come along to Markarth. It hadn't been hard, the older Dunmer eager for anything that would give her the information she had worked twenty-fives years for faster. Alor was glad for this since it took all of her strength to pull back the tears that wanted to fall after her brief reunion with Brynjolf. It wasn't until she was safely tucked away in Proudspire Manor that she let her emotions out.

At first it came as large sobs, shaking her entire body violently as she let her bitter tears fall. After nearly an hour of heavy crying, she felt her uneven breathes calm, her mind dully seeing the hard look in his eyes, her throat feeling tight with the memory of his tight grip. She felt such disgust for herself after seeing eyes that once had held fondness and affection turn to revulsion and rage. The fury the Nord displayed had turned the large, powerful man into something frightfully alien from the caring and fun-loving man that had cared for her.

_I did that to him_, she thought, her anger at herself building. "I'm destroying him." She shouted, picking up a vase and throwing it against the wall in her self-loathing. "Why do I kill everything I touch?" she called out to the darkness, fresh tears burning her face.

Her feet began to carry her in circles around the house, her hands pulling at her hair or clenching into fists. Only a month ago, she would have let her emotions carry her out into the night and steal a life in cold violence. Yet, as she acknowledge the cry of the dragon souls she had absorbed, she felt driven to destruction, the need to kill drowned out by a fiery roar within her.

After nearly an hour of anger, Alor felt her energy subside, the main floor of her house in ruins. Breathing heavily, she slowly moved out of the wreckage of chairs, cabinets, tables, bases, bookshelves, and whatever else had been in her line of sight. She felt utterly spent, her tears dried, her self-hatred diminished, and her despair throbbing acutely in her chest. _What am I going to do?_

Falling onto her bed, she hugged the barely used pillow, wishing for the comfort she had only felt in Brynjolf's arms. It wasn't long before she knew that she must pull herself from her bed and prepare for the journey ahead. Pulling off her dress, she slipped into a set of Stormcloak armor that she had barely worn during the civil war. The last thing she wanted was for Brynjolf to think of her as a heartless killer, as he surely would should she wear her normal attire.

The same thought process followed her as she discarded her normal set of knives for an ebony short sword and a deadly dagger she had gained after killing a daedric priest. Finally, she grabbed a bag and filled it with some money, a few potions, and, most importantly, her dragon priest mask, Krosis.

Braiding her hair, she decided to keep her face exposed until getting closer to Markarth. _Anything to keep him from thinking of me as an assassin_, she thought as she stepped around the ruins of her house and out into the dim light that came before dawn. She hadn't slept at all, but she felt as ready as would be to face the man who had rejected her.

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Brynjolf was woken up by a loud pounding on his door followed by Karliah yelling at him to gather his things and get moving. His body ached as the toxins from the drink settled into his muscles. Still, his physical pain was trivial compared to the mental and emotional hell he had suffered through the past few weeks.

Rubbing his face roughly, he slipped on his thieves' armor, threw his few things in a traveling sack, belted his daggers to his waist and made his way into the tavern. Karliah gave him a small smile, offering him some sweetrolls that he quickly waved off. His stomach was in no condition for food let alone a rich pastry.

"We should get moving." Karliah said after quickly eating and pulling her own pack on. "It's nearly dawn."

Brynjolf nodded, his mind still fuzzy from drink. He blindly followed his mentor's lover through the empty Solitude streets, reaching the city gates in minutes. A lone guard stood nearby, the Stormcloak armor looking heavy on the small-framed guard despite its light build.

"Morning." The guard called out, the voice causing him to look harder at the lone sentinel.

_Alor?_ He thought, raising his hand against the early morning rays and making out the familiar face of the elf. _How in Talos' name did she get Stormcloak armor?_ She had never mentioned being involved in the civil war, and if she had been he would have expected her to side with the Imperials. _She probably took it off some soldier's corpse_, he thought with a chill.

"Good, I'm glad you're here." Karliah said as they came together. "I hope to cover most of the distance to Markarth today so tomorrow we are able to reach and city and get the translation."

"It's doable." Alor answered with a shrug. "So long as we don't run into any trouble on the way."

"With three of us it shouldn't be an issue." The other Dunmer replied, taking the lead. "Let's just keep a quick pace and stop minimally."

Alor nodded her agreement and set in behind her kinswoman. She appeared to be ignoring the silent Nord, but Brynjolf caught her glancing back furtively every so often as they made their way southwest.

At first he met the small looks head on, glaring at the woman with as much anger as he could muster. But as the day wore on and the warm sun of late summer leached his energy from his body, he decided to ignore her darting eyes and focus on the road ahead.

"Let's stop and have some lunch." Karliah called out, breaking the silence hours into their journey. "There's a stream up ahead."

"Whatever you say." Brynjolf answered, picking up his pace so he was the first by the river. Sloughing off his pack, he knelt down by the clear water and took a long, refreshing drink before dunking his head into the cold water. It did more to wake him up than the entire walk had, his mind feeling clearer and quicker.

He dropped down on the soft bank near the river and grabbed some bread from his bag. Alor sat somewhat in front of him, allowing him to watch her without being seen. _She's moving slow today,_ he thought as he swallowed some of the bland loaf he had taken from the inn. His mind automatically began to wonder if she was feeling well before he caught himself and stopped the thoughts.

Yet, he continued to stare at her, watching the way the sunlight bounced off her dark hair, how her armor seemed to hug her small waist, and even how fluid her motions were despite their abnormal sluggishness. His mind drifted to how she looked the night before in that dress. Had she worn it a few weeks earlier, he wouldn't have been able to keep his hands off her. As it was, he hadn't able to keep his hands off her, but he had let his anger control those actions, not desire. A twinge of shame ran through him before being buried with all his other emotions. _Keep it together, Bryn_, he instructed himself as he reinforced the barriers that he hid his problems behind.

Tearing his eyes off the elf, he finished his meager and lunch and stood. "We should keep moving, lass." He called out to Karliah.

"Yes, we should." She replied, grabbing her pack and quickly putting it on. "Are you ready, Alor?"

"In a minute." She mumbled, rising to her feet slowly. Brynjolf tried not to watch the elf as she roughly put on her pack, favoring her right arm more than the left. He tried not to wonder what was wrong with her, but it was very difficult to do, especially as he could see that she was struggling to keep up with the pace the Karliah set.

_Ignore it, Bryn_, he told himself repeatedly as questions began to form on his tongue. _It doesn't concern you anymore. Her problems are not yours to worry about_. Yet, that was becoming more and more difficult to remember as she slowed further and soon was right next to him.

"You all right, lass?" he asked, in spite of his promise to himself that he wouldn't speak to the assassin.

She gave him a large, tentative look before reaching into her bag and pulling out a small green bottle. "I'll be fine." She said, tipping the bottle back and draining it.

Brynjolf could smell the familiar herbs of a stamina potion and frowned. "You know that those potions are meant to be used by soldiers during battle, right?"

"And your point?" she asked, a flush coming to her cheeks as the concoction began its work.

"You shouldn't – Nothing." he finished, holding back his concern stubbornly. She eyed him carefully, opening her mouth to say something, but she seemed to think better of it as she turned from him and trotted up closer to Karliah using her artificial energy.

They continued their journey in silence, the landscape empty of life until the sun started to drop lower in the sky. Brynjolf wasn't sure what it was that set his nerves on edge, whether it was the soft scraping noise that he could barely hear or the random pieces of fruit that sat on the road just in front of a large, jagged rock coming off from the nearby mountain that concealed the path ahead. No matter what it was, he drew his daggers instinctually as the approached the large rock, happy to see that his companions did the same.

"You picked the wrong day to get lost, stranger." A Breton called out as the approached, stepping around the rock with his war hammer drawn. Boisterous laughs echoed behind man, followed by their owners. Brynjolf swallowed hard as nine armed bandits appeared on the road in front of them, ranging from elf mages to Orcs and Nords.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard." The Breton grinned as the sounds of more footsteps came, ten more men appearing on top of the rock, dropping down to effectively surround the trio of thieves.

"What do you want?" Karliah answered, her bow ready despite being almost useless at such close range and with so many enemies.

"Money, of course." The Breton smiled. "But seeing as how you and your friend her are such _fine_ ladies, we may require some additional _payment_ if you want to leave here alive.

Brynjolf felt his anger grow at the words. As a curse formed on his lips just as Alor moved into action. The men seemed taken off guard by the little elf's blood-chilling yell as she swung her sword and dagger, decapitating the Breton and mortally wounding the Orc that stood next to him. Brynjolf didn't waste any more time to watch, turning quickly and springing on nearby mage with his daggers, dispensing of him and moving on to another.

"There's too many of them!" Karliah shouted as she moved away from the fight, a handful of the men following her. Brynjolf attempted to watch her as he fought a Nord with a war axe, but lost sight of the thief as the Nord attempted to take his head off.

"Not today!" Brynjolf shouted, ducking under the man's blow and letting his dagger find the weak spot in the Nord's armor and stick into his lungs. The bandit dropped to the ground, wheezing as his lung collapsed and the cavity filled with blood. Turning, he was faced by an Imperial with a sword and a shield and began the deadly dance anew.

"You never should have come here!" the Imperial shouted over an unintelligible yell that sounded like Alor. Brynjolf risked a glance in the direction of the shout, but was unable to see what was happening from behind the chain of rocks.

In his momentary distraction, the bandit rushed forward with his shield, ramming Brynjolf and catching him off balance. He stumbled back and found his footing as the bandit came forward again. He blocked the Imperial's attack with his dagger, darting back out of range of the flurry of attacks. Shouts continued to ring out around him and the Imperial seemed momentarily distracted. Brynjolf bound forward, his daggers raised, but his attack was deflected by the Imperial's large shield. Brynjolf feinted left and spun right, his weapon slashing into the man's side before his other dagger found a home in the Imperial's back.

"You should have stayed in Cyrodiil." He spat, pulling his weapon free. Looking around, Karliah had managed to take care of the five or six bandits that had followed her and continued to shoot arrows from a distance. _Where's Alor?_ He thought quickly, turning to find a heavily armored Orc right behind him, his mace lifted in the area ready to crash down on Brynjolf's skull.

He tensed with the realization that he was going to die when the Orc's menacing grin suddenly fell and a dark piece of metal emerged from his gut. The bandit grunted as the metal disappeared, dropping to the ground with a look of shock on his face.

"Alor!" Brynjolf gasped as another Bandit dropped down from the rock behind the elf that had just saved his life. She turned quickly, her sword rising to block the attack by the criminal. She darted to the man's side, slicing his throat with deadly precision.

"If there are any more of you hiding out in the rocks, I would leave now!" Alor shouted after a moment of silence, corpses covering the ground. A few noises were heard from above them as two men took the elf's advice and fled up the rocky mountainside.

Karliah ran up to them, an arrow sitting ready in her bow. "Is everyone all right? No one is hurt?"

"I'm fine." Brynjolf managed to choke out, the adrenaline from the attack making his mind dull.

"Good, and you?" she asked, looking at Alor carefully who had paled significantly from earlier.

"Let's just keep moving. We need to find a safe place to camp before it gets dark."

"You're right." Karliah answered, taking up the lead as they moved around the rocky overhang, dodging the lifeless bodies that were strewn over the path. "Let's get away from this infernal mountain."

"Aye," Brynjolf answered as they trudged forward, the sharp colors of dusk settling in. They continued to march forward long after darkness had fallen until Karliah finally slowed their pace.

"Let's make camp there." She said pointing towards the open riverbank just off the road. "Brynjolf, will you make a fire? I'm going to go wash up in the river."

"Aye, lass." He answered, setting down his pack where she had indicated before breaking off some branches of some nearby trees.

Karliah watched his progress for a little while before moving down the river bank until she was out of sight of the camp. As her footsteps disappeared into the night, Brynjolf became uncomfortably aware of Alor's eyes watching him. He tried to ignore her piercing gaze while he built up a small fire, but was finding it hard to not glance back at her.

Sitting back, he let a tense silence fall between them. _She looks pale,_ he thought as he let his eyes flit towards her before looking away. "Did you get hurt?" he asked awkwardly, not meeting her eyes.

"No." she answered back, pulling off her gloves and loosening her armor. "Did you?"

"No." he replied, thinking of the fight and how close he had come to a very serious injury, if not death. "Um, thank you for killing that bandit." He finished sheepishly, heat rising to his cheeks.

"You don't need to thank me, Brynjolf." She said softly, avoiding his eyes.

He didn't know what to say to her or if he really wanted to say anything at all. He didn't feel the anger he felt the night before, but being near her again did little in helping him to sort out his emotions. He watched her as she pulled out her bedroll and began to take off her armor, letting his eyes linger on her dark skin that was left exposed by her simple linen shirt and pants.

A familiar desire ran through him as she wrapped herself in her bedroll and shut her eyes. She looked so peaceful and gentle in sleep that his old feelings started to flood his senses, urging him to move towards her and touch her soft skin. He was relieved when Karliah finally returned, helping to take some of his attention off of Alor.

"Feel better?" he whispered, taking off his own armor and making up a quick bed.

"Much." She replied, doing the same. "She's a good fighter." She finished, bobbing her head in the direction of Alor.

"Well, she does kill people for a living."

Karliah shrugged. "And we steal. It doesn't really matter, does it?"

"Yes, it does." He replied sternly, getting a questioning look from the older thief. "Taking _things_ is a lot different than taking _lives_. Things can be replaced, a life can't."

"I suppose you're right." She replied with a yawn before sinking into her bed. "Get some sleep. We need to be up by dawn."

"Whatever you say, lass." He answered, slipping under his blanket and letting the fire warm his face. Across the flickering flames he watched the Alor's even breathes, his heart aching over their separation.


	37. Thane

**AN: Some of you will love this chapter and some will hate it. For the latter, don't stop reading!**

**Chapter 36**

Dawn came too fast for Alor. Her body ached from all the walking and fighting, her lack of sleep starting to slowly break her down. As they broke down camp in silence and began to walk again she repeatedly thought of what she was about to do for the thieves, wondering if was the right choice.

_You could always just steal the information_, she told herself, _you don't need to expose yourself._ Yet, as she thought about the look Brynjolf had given her when he had snuck into her home and the very different look he had given her at the Skeever, she knew she had little choice. The Nord would never forgive Alor, the assassin, for killing those that had hurt him, but he might find it in his heart to forgive Alor the Dragonborn. _Just so he doesn't hate me anymore_, she thought as the sky began to darken with night, the great walls of stone and mountain barely visible in the dimming light.

"We're almost there." Karliah called back needlessly, her excitement clear in her voice. Brynjolf didn't say anything, just as he practically hadn't said anything the day before. She had never seen the Nord so quiet; it almost disturbed her more than his anger.

As the walls grew closer and closer with each step, Alor felt her anxiety growing over what she was about to do. She kept her eyes down as they passed by a farm and started up the long slope towards the gate, hoping that none of the locals were paying much attention to her and her companions while she didn't have a mask on. As they got closer to the gate, Alor quietly slowed her steps and let Brynjolf move in front of her. She let them move a few strides ahead of her before she stopped and fished her mask out of her pack.

Looking at the smooth lines of Krosis, his face barely marked by her encounters with dragons, she forced her apprehension down. "This is who I am." She told herself. "This is who I want to be recognized as. Not a thief or an assassin."

The words did little to calm her pumping heart as she turned and continued the walk back up the slope, already hearing the echoes of the guards questioning Brynjolf and Karliah.

"I said, what is your business in Markarth?" a guard demanded, clearly for the second time.

"They are with me, guard." Alor called out, making her voice sound strong and imposing as she had done all those years ago. Brynjolf and Karliah turned and looked at her, both of their faces widening with shock.

"Oh, my Thane!" the guard replied quickly, "I didn't realize. Of course, they're with you. Let me open get them to open the gate."

The guard moved towards his companion and spoke to him briefly, setting the young man running to open the gate. The two thieves continued to stare at her, making her feel more and more uncomfortable under the heavy mask.

"Shall I send word up to Understone Keep that you are here?" the guard asked as the doors were pulled open.

"Yes, do that. Tell the Jarl I will be calling on him in the morning." Alor answered, moving in front of the thieves like a noble would to their servants. "Also, an elf should be arriving here some time tomorrow. He is here to see me. Be sure that he is brought to Vlindrel Hall upon his arrival."

"Yes, my Thane." The guard replied.

"Thank you, -" she paused, waiting for his name.

"It's Ralof Stone-Hammer, my Thane." The guard answered proudly.

"Thank you, Ralof. I will see to it that your superiors are made aware of your exceptional service."

"Thank you, my Thane!" the guard replied happily, giving a large, satisfied smile to his companion. Alor didn't wait for further questions and marched into the city knowing what her presence would stir.

The reaction was almost immediate, the citizens of Markarth gasping and whispering as she walked by. Many called out blessings to the Dragonborn, their Thane who saved them from the Foresworn years ago. Alor ignored most of these, climbing the steep stone steps of the city as quickly as possible until the majority of the people of Markarth were far below her.

"We will stay here." Alor informed her companions who had followed her to Vlindrel Hall in stunned silence. "I haven't been here in years, so it probably won't be the cleanest, but at least it's free."

"What was all that, lass?" Brynjolf barely managed to sputter out as she opened the large doors of her house with a slight shove. "Why were they calling you a Thane?

"Because that's what I am." She replied, ushering them into her house and shutting the door and locking it.

Byrnjolf's face soured and his hands went to his hair. "Don't lie to me, Alor. Where did you get that mask? Is that why they think you're a Thane?"

"I got the mask from a trunk in my house in Solitude." She said quietly, pulling the heavy object off her face. "Which is where I put it after I killed the wraith that wore it."

"No. That's not true." Brynjolf yelled, shoving off Karliah's hand that acted to calm him. "That's one of the Dragonborn's masks. Stop lying and tell me where you found it!" he finished almost hysterically.

"I'm not lying."

"Yes, you are!"

"Why don't you believe me, Brynjolf? Why can't this be my mask and Thane be one of my titles?" Alor yelled back, her hurt at his disbelief stabbing through her.

"Because the Dragonborn is good and just and saved Skyrim! Not some murderer!"

Alor felt the tears that had crept into her eyes fall. Her cheeks grew hot as Karliah attempted to diffuse the situation by telling Brynjolf to calm down, but he ignored her and continued to glare at his former lover.

"I am more than just _some murderer_, Brynjolf." She whispered sadly. "Whether you choose to believe it or not."

She turned from him and marched from the grand entryway. "Argis!" she shouted, moving towards the room her Housecarl in Markarth was allowed to use. She didn't know if he still slept there or not, in fact she didn't know if he was even alive or not, but she decided to check just in case. "Argis! Are you here?"

No answer came as she knocked on the door. Opening it slowly, she found the room largely untouched from the last time she was here. _Probably staying at Understone Keep,_ she thought thankfully, not wanting to explain the relationship of her companions to the annoying Housecarl.

"Who is Argis?" came Karliah's voice from behind her, the woman's eyes still open wide in wonder.

"My Housecarl here." She answered. "Doesn't look like he stays here anymore than I do. You can use this room, if you like."

"So you're serious about this? You're really a Thane and…"

Alor sighed, and wiped her eyes. "At one time. I haven't claimed this life, though, for a long, long time."

"Are you the Dragonborn?"

Alor looked at Karliah while defeat and frustration settled uneasily in her stomach. Brynjolf thought she was lying about who she was. He wouldn't even entertain the idea that she could be that good person he held the Dragonborn to be. "Let's get some sleep so we can see the Jarl in the morning and be done with this." She said darkly, avoiding the woman's questions as she walked out the door of the room.

Returning the main room, Brynjolf was nowhere to be seen. _He probably left,_ she thought bitterly as she lit a large fire in the living room hearth and made her way to her bedroom. The stone halls were lonely, any life given to them by their fine dwarvan decorations completely dull and dead to her sorrow-filled eyes. Pushing open the door to her bedroom, she looked at the large green bed and let a few tears fall. "What a fool I am." She whispered as she roughly tore off her armor and kicked into the corner.

Looking into the mirror, she began to wipe away the small splatters of blood that still covered her neck and face. A few dark spots had appeared on her neck from her conversation with Brynjolf in Solitude. Touching them lightly, tears began to blur her vision as the corners of her mouth pulled down into a deep frown.

She moved back to her bed and shoved her face into the pillow, smothering the sobs that kept plaguing her in her despair. Her whole body shook with each sob, her breathing hot and wet against the soft pillow. Everything she had let herself believe would happen didn't and it devastated her almost as badly as Brynjolf's original rejection. Every inch of her body hurt as she accepted that she would never have the Nord's affection again.

Another sob rolled through her, her heart throbbing against her chest when she felt the bed shift. Peaking out from her pillow, she felt a wave of hope and confusion spread through her at the familiar frame of the guild second. Sitting up, she wiped her face with her hands, taking in the slumped shoulders and conflicted look on Brynjolf's face.

"I thought you left." She whispered through her sniffles.

"I did." He replied, turning slightly to face her.

"But you came back?" she asked, barely allowing herself to hope again.

He stared at her for a moment, his face shifting through a storm of emotions so that Alor couldn't even guess at his thoughts. She felt her heart jump as he moved his hand towards her, as if to touch her, only to move it away again. "I don't know why I came back." He said, folding his hands into his lap and staring at the floor.

Alor swallowed the sob that threatened to escape, bobbing her head slightly as she searched for her words. "I see." she managed to choke out before her tongue went back to feeling heavy and useless.

"I don't even know who you are." Brynjolf said suddenly, his voice growing gruffer. "I thought I did. I thought you were like me, lass, searching for a family. I thought that your rough patches were due to your past and that they would start to smooth over, like mine did. But I was wrong. And just when I thought I had a handle on who you really were you do _this_!" he finished, waving around the room. "You claim to be the bloody Dragonborn! Why couldn't you let me be to get over you and put my life back together? Why did you even pretend to care for me in the first place?"

"I didn't pretend." She whispered, getting an angry glare from him.

"Then why would you do something like what you did to my family?" he asked, his face falling into sadness and voice cracking. "Why would you give me this guilt to carry for the rest of my life?"

A few loose tears dripped from her eyes as she searched for the answer to his question. At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do. Killing Freya and her husband seemed justified and necessary to avenge the man she cared for. "I thought that it would help heal you." She finally managed to say. "It was what had helped me move past bad things in my life and I wanted to help you, too."

"Did it really help you, lass?" he said sourly. "Did killing who ever it was really help you heal?"

Alor had never really thought about it before. Killing had become easy and had left her feeling good, but did it really help her heal? _No, _she realized, _the old wounds are still there_.

She stared up at him, her eyes wet as she tried to admit to him that she hadn't healed, that she had only masked her pain by bringing pain to others. He looked at her and turned away. "That's what I thought." He muttered bitterly, his own pain apparent on his face.

Alor could tell that she was losing him, that Brynjolf was going to leave her again and not come back this time. Desperation filled her as she reached out and grabbed his arm. "I can change." She said earnestly, forcing him to look her in her eyes.

"Change into what, lass?" he asked, pulling his arm away. "What can you change into? Because all I see when I look at you is a murder who tarnishes the good name of a hero."

"That name is already tarnished." She said darkly, causing him to give her a sharp look. "I'm not pretending to be something I'm not, Brynjolf. If you want me to use the power of the Voice to prove who I am I will. I am the Dragonborn. I am a Thane in Markarth and _every_ other city in this gods forsaken land because I did what was demanded of me as the Dragonborn. I picked a side and destroyed the other. Whether it was fighting for Skyrim and killing the dragons, or for Ulfric and destroying the legion, or even for the people of Markarth by slaughtering hundreds of Foresworn, everyday I walked this land as the Dragonborn I was forced to make a choice and act as the executioner. That's what being the Dragonborn is, Brynjolf, it's being the power to crush and destroy things, just like being an assassin. So don't think that this _hero_ of yours is any different than the assassin you hate. They are both mixed into the same woman who I thought you actually cared for."

Brynjolf looked at her, tears falling from his eyes. "Don't you dare say I didn't care for you, just…don't you dare. I thought I was falling in love with you, lass." He whispered, touching a finger to her wet, blotchy face. "But how can I do that with someone I don't even know?"

"You do know me." She replied through her tears, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly. "I'm the same person that you cared for when I was injured and the same person you went with to Whiterun. Everything I've told you when you would meet me outside of Riften was true. I didn't lie to you, Brynjolf. I told you things that I have never told anyone else." She finished in a pleading voice. "You know me!"

"No, lass, I don't know you. I don't even know your first name." he whispered, his sad blue eyes glossing over.

She felt a pressure in her chest as she stared at him. She moved his hand to her lips and lightly touched the skin. She could feel his body tense, but he didn't pull away. "Iveri."

"What?" he said, turning towards her.

"My name is Iveri." She repeated, grasping his hand tightly. "And you are the only person in this world that knows it."

"Why keep it secret?"

"Because it was the only thing that was truly mine." She explained uneasily. "My grandfather was the only one who ever used it and…I just couldn't give it away."

"And why tell me now?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for something. "Why?"

"Because I love you." She whispered nervously, glancing at him. She had never spoken those words to anyone and it scared her to hear them come from her lips. The few seconds of silence that slipped between them seemed like an eternity as she waited in agony for his response.

"I don't think I can do this." He finally whispered, pulling his hand free from the devastated Dunmer's hand.

"Why?" she called out as he stood, tears streaming down her face and into her mouth. Their salty taste only added to the despair and bitterness that was filling her chest.

"It's too much." He choked out through his own tears. "It's just bloody too much. I can't do this anymore. I can't be with you." He finished moving towards the door.

"No, no, no." she cried out, standing and moving towards him. "Don't go! Don't leave me, please. Please, Brynjolf, please. Don't go, just don't go."

He looked at her, his jaw quivering as he tried to keep his composure. "I-" he started, grabbing the door and opening it. "I just can't." he whispered before moving into the dark hall, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Alor watched in disbelief, her fragile world falling apart in front of her. She opened her mouth, trying to breathe, trying to speak, willing with all her energy for him to come back, but nothing happened. She sank to the floor with a sharp intake of breath that was followed by a screaming wail, her hands gripping at her face as his words burned her soul. She felt as though she were suffocating as another large breath suddenly burst into her searing lungs only to leave immediately in the form of another broken-hearted wail.


	38. Numb

**Chapter 37 **

He could hear her cries echoing through the stone halls of the manor, making each step more urgent and more unbearable all at once. Running from the house and his pain, he let his mind blank with the exertion of movement, taking the steep steps of Markarth by twos until he was safely out of the city.

Yet, he didn't stop running. Brynjolf ran until the looming mountains of the Reach were far behind him and kept moving in his blind race until he was well within the borders of Whiterun Hold. Only then did he slow his pace, his numb legs wobbling after the strenuous journey. Dawn was well upon him as he slumped onto the ground, breathing hard, his armor sticking to his wet skin.

Lying back on the cold ground, he brought his hands to his face and let out a long moan. "Why are you punishing me?" he shouted up towards the sky, searching for an answer. "What have I done to deserve this life?"

No response came as he continued to watch the sky for Talos and the other divines to show him his way. He needed someone to make sense of all that had happened and why he had come to be where he was.

"Was it not enough that I lost my family?" he yelled up to the sky. "That now I have to lose everything else, too?"

He groaned as he thought of the declining guild, the renewed memory of his mentor's death, and, most acutely, his heartache. "That damned elf!" he cursed, pounding his fists into the ground. She had tangled herself into his life so quickly that he barely realized it had happened. He had confided in her, _trusted_ her, only to have the illusion of happiness ripped away from him in the cruel form of guilt and lies. Dragonborn or not, she was nothing but lies and her words of love and change were not enough.

"If only she died at Sibbi's hand." He muttered, pulling himself up while feeling the guilt and truth of his words poison him. A bitterness that he hadn't felt since his youth wormed its way into his heart, slowly eroding all that he had felt for the elf and all that he had hoped for.

Rising from the ground, he slowly began to limp down the road, his body stiff and aching. _My family needs me_, he thought to himself, shutting out the memory of Alor and all that she could have been. _It's time to go home_.


	39. The Truth about Luck

**Chapter 38**

Alor was dressed and ready well before Karliah even stirred in her room. Sleep was not an option for the elf as she faced the reality that everything she hoped for was never going to happen. Brynjolf didn't love her, he didn't want her, and what little she had left to drive her and give her purpose was gone.

She no longer felt the overwhelming impulse to kill, making the Brotherhood less of a refuge and more of a chore. She knew she could spend the rest of her life as the Dragonborn, but the world had no real need for _that_ person either. There was no huge threat, no grand scheme or urgent task that she needed to complete. She would be nothing more than a figurehead for the Jarls, running stupid little errands for their Holds.

Brynjolf had been the one thing that seemed to make sense in her life recently. He gave her some sort of meaning to her life that had felt more significant that being the Listener or the Dragonborn. He had grounded her and cleared her often chaotic mind, allowing her to cope with the memories that continued to plague her. The loss of this clarity and purpose and the rejection by her lover hurt far worse than anything she had ever experienced. It was beyond any of the simple words she knew to even express what she felt.

When Karliah finally appeared in the hall, Alor merely gestured for the woman to follow, not daring to speak at the risk of having to answer questions. Their march to Understone Keep was fast, no one daring to stop the Dragonborn and her guest on their way to see the Jarl. It was the sort of treatment that was both enticing and frustrating to Alor. She had enjoyed the sense of importance and power it had given to her, but the instant recognition and inability to ever have a moments' peace had been a major factor in her fleeing the life.

_Get this done and you can leave_, she told herself, trying her best to push her lingering tears from her eyes. She would do what she promised and then escape to some other life where she didn't have time to think of Brynjolf or be reminded of him. She would abandon her masks, as she had so many years ago, to slip into obscurity, doing whatever it took to drown out the pain.

Entering the Mournful Throne with practiced steps of confidence, Alor gave a slight bow to the lounging Jarl. "Jarl Igmund." She said with as much respect as she could muster for the lazy man.

"Dragonborn!" he boomed. "It has been too long since you have graced my halls with your presence. In fact, your presence has been lacking in all of the Holds. To what do I owe the honor?"

"I am in need of the assistance of your wizard. I am told he is the authority on the Falmer language."

"He is." The Jarl said, arching his eyebrow.

"I need a his code to translate some artifacts." Alor said, her voice slightly commanding from under her cold mask.

"I don't know if he will be willing to do that." Igmund answered. "He is very secretive of his work."

"Jarl Igmund, he is your employee and has information I need. I would advise you to reconsider what I ask in repayment for helping to keep you on your throne."

The Jarl's eyes opened wide at her cold, hard tone. Alor knew that it must have added a menacing appearance to her eerie, stone face as he shuddered and motioned for a servant. "Go get Calcelmo. Now."

The servant ran off to do the Jarl's bidding, leaving only Alor, Karliah, the Jarl and a handful of guards in the large room. "Thank you, my Jarl."

"It is nothing." The man said in a causal voice that clashed terribly with the tension that lined his face. Alor felt a small smile play at her mouth, knowing that he, like so many of the other Jarls, feared that she could and would use her voice as Ulfric had to start the civil war. In fact, it was Ulfric himself that had expressed the fear originally in a joking manner, his eyes revealing his seriousness. _And I would use it,_ she thought to herself as they waited in silence.

Karliah started to shift uncomfortably behind Alor as the silence drew on. She had no desire to small talk with the lazy, pompous Jarl, though, just to make the situation more comfortable. Thankfully, footsteps were soon heard echoing down the large dwarven halls.

"You called, my Jarl?" came the familiar old Wizard, trailed by the servant.

"Yes, the Dragonborn requires that you provide her with something to translate some Falmer text."

"I'm not sure if I-" Calcelmo started, only to stop with the Jarl's fist pounding against his chair.

"Do as I say and do it now!" he yelled.

"Yes, my Jarl." Calcelmo replied. "Let me go to my laboratory…" he trailed off, shuffling away while grumbling.

"Have a servant send the translator to my manor." Alor said, turning from the Jarl. "It has been a pleasure."

"Likewise." Jarl Igmund replied as they retreated from the hall.

"There." She said, after putting the Keep a few paces behind them. "You have what you want. You can use the Manor to do whatever it is that you need."

"Why? Where are you going?" Karliah asked in confusion.

"Away." Alor murmured, leaving the Dunmer woman standing at the bottom of the steps to her house.

"What about the Guild and Mercer?" she called out, her voice slightly irritated. "Don't you care about what happens to them?"

Alor turned and looked at the woman for a moment through the thin slits in her mask. "I'm not a part of _your _Guild." She hissed, retreating down the steps towards the gate. _I never was_, she thought as Brynjolf's face floated into her mind and the tears she had managed to hide away broke free from her eyes. _And I never will be._

**Fourteen Months Later**

Brynjolf sat listlessly behind the desk that had once been Mercer's, worrying about the Guild and the ruin they were facing. The old guildmaster's whereabouts were still unknown after his sudden disappearance from the Guild, robbing the thieves blind of all their hard-earned gold. It was the last straw in a very long and horrible run of luck, breaking the Guild's tentative hold even on Riften. Brynjolf just hoped that Karliah would eventually be able to track the Breton down so that he could confront his former guildmaster for the crimes he had committed against their family.

Unfortunately, he hadn't heard a whisper from the Dunmer since she returned from Markarth, journal in hand, waving about Gallus' knowledge of Mercer's betrayal. It had been a hard thing to swallow, that Karliah was innocent and the man that he had trusted for so long was responsible for his friend's death. It was even harder to actually believe what he saw after opening the vault, finding it completely empty of treasure despite the impossibility of the situation. Karliah had mentioned an artifact that would have allowed Mercer to defeat the double locks the vault employed for security, but it hadn't made much sense to him. What did make sense, though, was that the Guild was in an even rougher spot than he had even realized and it was up to him to fix that.

"Any luck out there today, Vex?" he called out as the Nord woman entered the cistern quietly.

"Only a few hundred." She said, holding up a small bag of coin.

Brynjolf sighed and let his hands rub his forehead. _We are not doing very well_, he thought as he pulled at his hair. _If only we had a thief like_…" he trailed off, pushing the image of the little elf he vowed to forget from his mind. "No, Bryn, don't even go there."

"What did you say?" Vex called out, moving towards him with her normal swagger.

"Nothing, lass." He replied. "It just seems like when we were starting to get ahead again everything falls apart."

"No word from Karliah, huh?" she asked, leaning against the wall next to him.

"None in months. It seemed like she had a good lead after we searched Mercer's house, but nothing has come about."

She scowled darkly at mention of the former guildmaster. "I wish I could get my hands on him right now."

"Aye, me too, lass." Brynjolf replied. "All that gold we had brought after…" he trailed off again, his mind going to Whiterun.

Vex gave a quick look but didn't say anything. "He'll turn up, Bryn, and we'll keep stealing. It's just getting harder with everyone upgrading their locks."

_Because their afraid of the Dark Brotherhood,_ he thought to himself, thinking what Vex failed to say. It was no secret that the band of assassins had grown and become bolder in their attacks. No one knew how many there were or where they were located, but it seemed more often than not a town would wake to find one of its citizens lying in bed with a slit throat. There were even whispers of the organization spreading back into Cyrodiil and the other providences, making the threat seem all the more terrible.

"We just have to get better lock picks and figure out the new locks." Brynjolf said wearily. "Delvin said he was getting a handle on how they are made."

"I hope that he hurries, for the Guild's sake." Vex said dryly, pushing herself from the wall. "I'm going to get a drink. Care to join me?"

"Not now, lass. I have some things I need to finish up." He replied, giving her a smile before she left.

Sighing, he looked out over the empty cistern, thinking of how many thieves that had lost. Thyrnn left after the gold started to thin out even more than it had before. Rune was next. Sapphire stuck around, but she was doing more jobs on her own, keeping the Guild out of the payment process. Only Vex and Delvin had really kept up with the Guild, but it was getting harder each day to send them on jobs that only turned up with a few Septims and a jewel or two. _It's just not enough_, he thought, _We need our luck to change_.

As if answering a prayer, the back entrance ground open and a familiar, raspy voice called down. "Brynjolf! Are you there?"

Brynjolf jumped up from his seat and moved towards the passage, his heart racing. "Karliah! Thank Talos! I was about to give up hope that you would find anything."

"I know where he is." She replied quickly, "But there's something I need to tell you, first."

"What's that, lass?" he asked, bracing himself for bad news.

"Remember how I said Mercer didn't need to worry about keys to get into the vault?"

"Aye." He said wearily, not in the mood anything but finding the traitor and dealing with him.

"He was able to do this because he was a Nightingale" she replied slowly, her eyes urging him to listen. "You see, Gallus, Mercer, and I were all part of what's known as the Nightingale Trinity. This Trinity was disbanded twenty-five years ago after Mercer betrayed us by slaying Gallus and dumping his body in the Snow Veil ruin."

"Alright…" Brynjolf started, his eyes rising as he waited for her words to make sense. "What does this have to do with the vault and the Guild?"

"The Trinity has always been indirectly associated with the Guild, although its existence is a closely guarded secret. We were supposed to protect the Temple of Nocturnal, a place known as the Twilight Sepulcher, home of the Mistress of Night and Darkness, our patron. She influences the Guild's luck and in return demands payment."

"What sort of payment?" Brynjolf whispered as he began understanding the significance of her words.

"Not the traditional kind. The price is much higher than gold. Whether you know it or not, Nocturnal dictates how well we can perform as rogues. It explains how strange our luck behaves. Both the good and the bad."

"So she is happy to let us suffer? Let the Guild suffer?" he said angrily.

"Her whim is a mystery even to me, but the Guild's fate is not as mysterious as it may seem, Brynjolf. Mercer desecrated her temple. He stole Nocturnal's Skeleton Key, giving him the power to open any lock."

"Like the vault's." Brynjolf moaned, his stomach dropping.

"Yes, like the vault's locks." She replied. "We must defeat Mercer, but we're going to need her aid."

"What do you mean, lass?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"She requires three guardians. Three Nightingales. I am one, two more are needed."

"Whoa, lass. Becoming a Nightingale was never part of this discussion." He said quickly. "I appreciate the trust that you told me all of this, but I don't even know what the job requires."

"She'll give you her power to do with as you want, Brynjolf. In return all you have to do is act as a guardian of the Twilight Sepulcher in life and in death."

"See, the _and in death_ part is the problem, Karliah. Can't we just go to where Mercer is and kill him?"

"No. He has the power of a Nightingale. Fighting him won't be like taking on a bandit. We need Nocturnal's power if we wish to defeat him, Brynjolf, and bring her favor back to the Guild."

Brynjolf hung his head, knowing that Karliah must be right. The Guild was suffering strangely despite the skill of its thieves. There had to be more playing at their success than just everyday luck. _If this Nocturnal is able to help us, then what choice do I have?_

"Fine. I'll do it." He said.

"Good, now we just have to find the third before we can present ourselves to Nocturnal."

"Who's the third?" he asked, watching her face shift from happiness to apprehension.

"Nocturnal requires the best, Brynjolf. That's why you were an obvious choice." She started, her eyes shifting to the ground. "If there was any one else I thought she would accept, believe me I would take them."

"What do you mean, lass?" he asked, his heart dropping as he already knew the answer.

"I did the Black Sacrament three days ago." She replied, looking up at him sternly. "We need her, Brynjolf, if we want a hope that Nocturnal will accept us and aid us."

"No." he said sternly, his jaw setting into a hard frown. "Absolutely not."

"It would be for just one job." She replied, giving him an exasperated look.

"Do you have any idea what she put me through? How long it took me to get over her?" he hissed, his face warming with emotion. "No, I can't do it. You ask too much."

"I thought that the Guild was your priority." Karliah said calmly. "I guess I was wrong."

"It _is_ my priority, Karliah. I just don't think we need _her._"

"You don't know Nocturnal. I do. None of your thieves here will please her. We need Alor."

At the mention of her name, Brynjolf felt his heart drop. He had avoided any mention of the elf since he returned to the Guild. Thankfully, no one questioned him or brought her up, allowing her memory to slowly slip away. For everyone but him, that is. She still haunted his dreams and flitted across his mind. As time passed, it got easier to ignore, but when faced directly with the elf's existence, the heartache and bitterness returned.

"It's for the Guild, Brynjolf. Just for this one job." Karliah pressed.

"Fine." He spat, turning from the Dunmer abruptly. "I'll be here when you find her."


	40. A New Contract

**Chapter 39**

"Tell me again the Five Tenets, Aventus." Alor asked, her tone hard but her eyes soft for her young protégé.

"Never dishonor the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis." The young man started, his dark eyes shining brightly as he spoke. "Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Never steal the possessions of a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. And, never kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis."

"Good!" she smiled, turning a small circle around the Imperial in their training room. "Now tell me the hierarchy of the Brotherhood."

"There are Dark Brothers and Sisters that carry out most of the contracts. Then there are the Sanctuary Masters that oversee the Brothers and Sisters. Four Speakers oversee the masters, receiving the names of contracts from the Listener."

"Good!" she said again to the boy. "That is very good. There is more to it than just that, Aventus, but for now this is all you need to know. I have very high hopes that you will grow in the ranks."

"Do you think I could be in charge of one of the Sanctuaries?" he asked hopefully.

_You will be Speaker someday, when you're ready,_ Alor thought to herself. _The Night Mother named you already_. "I think you will go far. Whether it's here in Whiterun, or one of our other sanctuaries." She said, keeping her thoughts to herself.

"Where are the other sanctuaries?"

"Only those of the Black Hand know the whereabouts of all the Sanctuaries." Alor said softly. "You only need to worry about this one."

"But are they all hidden beneath houses? I mean, the Jarls have to start questioning why a house stays abandoned in their city."

"No, they aren't all built underneath houses," She started patiently. "And if any Jarl suspects something, he is given a very strong reminder of why it is wise to keep his thoughts to himself."

Aventus laughed, throwing his dark head back. "To actually threaten a Jarl! That would be something."

"Perhaps someday you will get the chance, but you are still new to the family, Aventus. Don't get ahead of yourself. I see good things for your future, but none of that can happen if you get killed doing something foolish."

"You're right, Sister. Forgive me. I get too excited sometimes." He said. "I just still can't believe that you found me again, after all those years. I never thought that the Dark Brotherhood would want me!"

"You've grown from the little boy doing the Black Sacrament." Alor said gently, "But you still have to prove yourself. The Speaker for Whiterun has decided its time that you do more than just fulfill the contracts. It's time that you meet with the person requiring our services."

"Really? I get to go talk to someone who did the Sacrament!" he said in excitement.

"_Talk_ is a bit of an exaggeration." Alor said quickly. "Do you remember how much I said to you when I took your contract?"

"Not much." He replied, frowning.

"Exactly. You can't let them have too much to recognize you with. They can't know your face or your voice. Only say what is necessary and let them do most of the talking. Usually they are so nervous that they tell you everything without needing to use a single word."

"Am I going to do this alone?" he asked, apprehension filling his soft, boyish features.

"No, I will be with you, but in the shadows. They will not know I'm there unless something goes wrong."

Aventus smiled broadly at his mentor, his face showing his pride at being given more responsibility. "When do we leave?"

"Are you ready now? We have to get all the way to Shor's Stone in the Rift." She asked, looking over the boy's attire.

"Yes!" he said, standing with so much enthusiasm that the small chair he was sitting on fell to the ground.

"Good, we're meeting a Dunmer just north of the mine." She said, moving towards the secret tunnel that would safely lead them out of the city and into the rocky hills surrounding Whiterun.

Aventus happily followed in her footsteps, his enthusiasm marking him as having great potential for the assassin's line of work. Alor couldn't help but envy him for it, having lost her own unquenchable thirst nearly a year prior. Frowning into the darkness that surrounded them on their silent journey out of the city, she missed the sense of power and control that used to wash over her with her kills. Now when she took a life, it only felt empty, the souls of the dragons she had finally acknowledged finding no sense of accomplishment at snuffing out a pathetic mortal life.

_It will get better_, she told herself, drowning out the constant regret she felt over what she called the Riften Job. In so many ways that one contract had destroyed the small life she had built for herself, even if some of the changes were for the better. It was true that she no longer felt tugged into the depths of madness when situations grew beyond her control, but she also lost the ruthlessness and drive that had come with those episodes. Her skills in killing lost their passion, and with it, some of the fearsomeness that had helped put the Brotherhood back into the realm of power and fear. In the end it meant more listening to the Night Mother and less doing of the actual contracts.

_At least I have Aventus_, she thought, smiling under her mask. He would be a Speaker some day and it was her duty to train him, just as Babette was training another young boy and Nazir, begrudgingly, worked the third of the Night Mother's chosen. They were the future of the Brotherhood and would help maintain the position the organization had just begun to sneak into. It was as she had hoped, helping the Brotherhood regain power through a highly organized and secret infrastructure. It was what she had devoted almost every ounce of her energy into since her return from Markarth.

She felt the common throb in her chest as her mind flashed through that horrible night in the dwarven city. It was less intense now than it had been, but the pain was still there. Thankfully, she had the distraction of work and the responsibility of starting a new Sanctuary. After obsessively seeking out new Brothers and Sisters, she had enough assassins to warrant converting the hearth in her home in Whiterun into a secret entrance and building a complex underground lair. Six assassins now lived there, all new within the last two years.

Yet, the Brotherhood's growth didn't stop in Whiterun. Babette had refurbished the ruined Sanctuary in the Pale, creating a stronghold in the southern Skyrim, while Cicero happily sent an envoy to some of the old, ruined halls in Cyrodiil, rounding up the remnants of their Brotherhood under the banner of Skyrim's newfound hierarchy.

Things were going well, they were gaining power, and the Brotherhood was feared again. Still, Alor couldn't push her sadness from her. As much as she distracted herself from her continued heartache through her work night would eventually come and bring with it the silence that allowed her mind to wander.

_You're just going into the Rift, not into Riften itself_, she told herself as they made their way through the wilderness of Whiterun Hold and breaking into the lake-filled Hold under Laila Law-Giver's control. Touching the small silver ring that she still wore, she briefly allowed herself to see a set of kind, deep blue eyes before pushing the upsetting thoughts away.

"How will we know who the Dunmer is?" Aventus asked through labored breaths.

"When the Night Mother speaks, she is very clear about where to find those that have prayed. Just as I was able to find you living in a shack in the wilderness only a few months ago, we will be able to find this Dunmer."

"Oh," the young Imperial said. "It must be something to hear the Night Mother."

"Yes, the Listener is very lucky." Alor replied. Nazir, Babette, Cicero, and herself had all agreed to keep any additional identities they had within the organization a secret. None of the new recruits recognized Babette as a Speaker, Cicero as the Keeper, or herself as the Listener, just like in the old days of the Brotherhood's glory.

"Alright, its time to slow down." She whispered, bringing their strenuous jog to a fast walk. She could feel her legs shake a little, the numbness they had gained over the long period of movement wearing off. "We are getting close to the mines. Our employer will be just north of them."

"I think I see a fire up there." Aventus replied, pointing up to a small, flickering light up further on the mountain.

"Good." She replied, silently weaving their way towards a small path. She motioned for Aventus to crouch down low, as she had taught him, and creep forward at a swift and steady pace. Together, they were able to move up towards the fire in almost near silence.

"This must be it." Alor whispered to her pupil. "Step into the light and reveal yourself. Let the Dunmer do that talking. If anything goes wrong, I'll be right here."

"Okay." the young man replied nervously. "You're sure I'm ready for this?"

"Yes." She replied, nudging him forward. "I'll be right behind you in the shadows."

Aventus gave her a grateful smile before clasping his mask over his face and creeping into the light. Alor watched him, mentally noting things he needed to work on when it came to sneaking. The boy stood once he reached the light, looking down at whoever sat on the other side of the fire.

"You prayed for me." He said in his best attempt at being terrifying. _It needs work,_ Alor thought, moving slightly so as to get a better view of the show.

"Yes, but I was hoping for another to come." Came a throaty, feminine voice. Alor felt her heart stop at the noise, moving even more in a desperate attempt to get a look at the speaker.

_It can't be!_ She thought to herself, as she moved silently behind a few trees and rocks until the Dunmer's face came into view. _Sithis, it's Karliah_!

Aventus shifted slightly, unsure of what to do. Alor watched him as he glanced back to where she had stood, looking for some sort of aid. Getting nothing, he focused on the thief. "I'm here. Who is it that you want dead."

Alor watched as Karliah's face shifted into frustration, her light eyes bouncing the orange light of the fire, giving them an eerie appearance. "I only will tell Alor."

The boy made a noise and again, looked back into the darkness. _What sort of game is this?_ She thought angrily. _Why is she looking for me?_

Stepping from where she had been hidden she moved towards her pupil and gave him a reassuring look. "How does she know you?" he whispered as she approached.

"From a job I wish I could forget." She said back. "This isn't a normal contract, Aventus."

"Is that you, Alor?" Karliah called out, standing up at the potential threat of another assassin. "I've only called you to talk."

"The Sacrament is not a tool to find me, Karliah." She snapped at the older woman. "You have called out the Night Mother and now Sithis demands blood. I do hope that you have a contract in mind."

"I do." She said easily, "But we have things we need to discuss first."

"There is nothing to discuss. Give us the name and two-thousand gold. That is my price since you are demanding _my _services."

"Take three." Karliah said, tossing a heavy bag at the masked Imperial, smiling at the wide-eyed look he gave her from under his hood.

"What is this?" Alor hissed, "Why are you here?"

"Mercer Frey still lives. I need your help to kill him." The thief replied.

Alor scowled under her mask as she recalled the nasty Breton's face as he stuck his sword into her chest. Luckily, he had stabbed her too high, allowing her to survive the wound. "And do you know where he is?"

"I do. I will take you to him."

"No, that's not how this works." She said sternly. "You give me the location, I go and kill him. That's what your money is buying, not a companion to drag around with you while you seek your revenge."

Karliah sighed heavily, her body tensing as she prepared for an argument. "There is more at work here than just that treacherous bastard, Alor. Mercer has power from the patron of thieves, Nocturnal. You will not be able to kill him alone or even with the help of your boy, here. You will need me just as much as I need you. I'm the only other living person right now that has similar power to him."

"Nocturnal? The daedra?" Alor said, a pit filling her stomach.  
>"Yes."<p>

"And you think that with whatever _power_ you have will be enough to stop him?"

"No, that won't be enough." Karliah answered as Alor snorted impatiently. "What will be enough is restoring the Nightingale Trinity. It's a group of Nocturnal's chosen that Mercer was once a part of. If you come with me and accept her blessing, we will be able to finally kill Mercer." She finished, her tone becoming dark and dangerous.

_The Blessing of Nocturnal? That sounds like trouble_. "What does this blessing mean?"

"If she finds you worthy she will grant you power to use however you like."

"But?" Alor pressed.

"She will demand that you help protect her shrine." Karliah replied. "It will not take you away from whatever duties you currently have."

"And who else will be there?" the Listener said quickly. "There are three in a Trinity."

"Another thief with some skill." Karliah answered. "Now will you help me?"

Alor looked at the woman and began to say _no_ when she stopped herself. _Mercer deserves to die_, she thought darkly of all that she had seen and experienced during her time with the thieves. _And the Night Mother accepted this contract_. The latter thought pulled on her more heavily. It would be disobeying the Night Mother should she deny the contract. _ There isn't much of a choice_.

"Fine. I accept." She said quickly. Turning back to the silent boy she gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry that this wasn't a normal contract. Go back to Whiterun and do whatever work the others give you. I should be back in a few days."

"I can't come?" the boy asked in disappointment.

"Not on this one." Alor replied. "This is part of my mess that I have to clean up. Now go, and be careful. Don't do more than you are capable of."

The boy gave her a quick, disheartened look before turning and disappearing into the darkness. Alor watched and listened, making sure that he truly left before turning back to the elf. "Let's get this over with." She said sourly, ignoring the large satisfied smile that covered Karliah's face.


	41. Nocturnal

**AN: Sorry, this is a slower chapter with a funny end. I wanted to switch POV, so it stops abruptly. The next will have more action. Promise.**

**Chapter 40**

Brynjolf had slept poorly after his brief meeting the Karliah, thoughts of Alor dancing about his head. He had done his best to ignore the passing feelings about the little elf, but the quiet of the cistern seemed to unhinge all of his efforts. After a few fruitless hours of squeezing his eyes shut, he finally gave up on sleep and silently crept away from the rest of his sleeping family.

Letting his feet carry him, he found himself standing outside the small room he had claimed as his own, deep in the ratway. He hadn't been there since the night he had spent with Alor, the memories too recent and the hurt too raw for him. _What are you doing, Bryn?_ He asked himself as he unlocked the door and slipped inside. _Why are you doing this to yourself?_

With a deep breath, he lit some of the torches lining the walls, lighting the small room with soft flickers of yellow light. Looking around the room he did a mental inventory of all his things that he had collected over the years. Books, furs, art, jewelry, weapons, and even rare potion ingredients, all of it neatly hidden away in the various chests and furniture. Despite how much he had treasured these items for years, they seemed empty and meaningless to him as his gaze swept across the room. "What's the point of having things you don't share with anyone?" he said aloud, a feeling of loneliness filling him.

Sighing deeply, he quickly extinguished the few flames and left the room, his mind clouded by unfulfilled desires that he had for his life. _There's no companionship for a thief,_ he reminded himself during his short walk back to the Guild. Had he not been forced from the life he was born into, he would have been married by now with children. His daily concerns would be social events and his children's education rather than heists and cons. He would be preparing for a daughter to come out and be pursued by suitors instead of slinking in the shadows and hiding from the guards. He wanted a piece of that former life; he wanted a companion through life and a family of his own, not just friends in crime. _That isn't your lot, Bryn_, he told himself sternly. _Give it up_.

Eventually he found himself outside of the Guild, sitting in the cemetery as he often did when his mind was troubled. The cool air of night did much to help clear his head, but little to improve his mood. The unchanging walls of Riften and the unkempt cemetery brought more immediate and desperate thoughts to his mind. _The Guild is in trouble_, he thought sadly. _We need our luck to change back to how it was. Otherwise we won't survive another year of this_.

He shuddered at the idea of having no home or family after the Guild crumbled into nothingness. He never believed it could possibly happen, but with how things were it was a stark reality he had to face. In the end, it made him acknowledge that the family he had built for himself was just as fragile, if not more, than one of blood. He began to fear what the future would hold should everything fall apart.

"Is that you, Brynjolf?" a soft voice called out from the darkness, surprising the Nord from his troubling thoughts.

"Karliah?"

"Yes." She said, moving into the light with silent precision. "It's time. Are you ready to leave?"

Looking down, he quickly took inventory of what he had on him. He was already dressed in armor and had his daggers strapped across his chest. Feeling a few of the pockets in his gear, he was happy to find them full of herbs that could be used for health potions should they get in a tight spot. "Aye." He finally responded, rising from his perch with a few groans from his tired body.

"Good, let's go." The Dunmer thief said, quickly leading their way out of Riften.

Brynjolf was prepared for a long journey to some secluded spot, but it wasn't long before Karliah brought him up a path near the city that he had failed to notice in all his years of living there. It was slightly unkempt and rough, sloping up into the side of one of Skyrim's many mountains.

"The Hall of the Nightingales." Karliah said as the standing stone occupied his sight, her voice carrying all of her reverence for the post she held.

Brynjolf continued to stare at the stone, feeling a strange draw to the looping carving on its front. It was only after a few minutes of thoughtful staring that he noticed the small, unmoving figure clad in black and red armor. He jumped slightly in surprise, an embarrassed heat running through him.

_Iveri Alor_. It was clear by her wide-eyed stare that she had not been expecting to see him. Again, he felt embarrassment fill him as her eyes moved between surprise, sadness, and even anger. "She didn't tell you I was going to be here." He said uncomfortably, the tension growing with each second something wasn't said.

"No. She didn't." the assassin replied darkly, her eyes moving behind Brynjolf to where Karliah stood.

"I was afraid you wouldn't have come." Karliah said, her voice holding no note of apology.

"I wouldn't have." Alor replied stiffly.

Brynjolf wasn't sure why, but the elf's words stung a little. It could have been her cold anger that filled her voice with venom, or the unwanted memory of her devastated and broken cries when he left her in Markarth that filled his ears. Whatever the case, embarrassment, guilt, and a deep ache in his chest washed over him before he could gain control over his feelings once more.

"Well, we're here now. Let's finish what we came here to do and then we both can get back to our lives." he said quickly.

Alor didn't say anything, her eyes still focused angrily on the other Dunmer who looked away from the intense gaze. Brynjolf felt the growing hatred in her look for Karliah, feeling a shadow of it himself. _You're doing this for the Guild_, he reminded himself, pushing back his resentment for the older thief and the awkward position he found himself in. "Can we get a move on?" he finally said, breaking the deadly silence that had fallen.

"Yes, follow me." Karliah answered quickly, moving for a concealed stone entrance into the side of the mountain. They moved quickly across the rough entrance of Nightingale hall, making for a long, wooden bridge. Upon reaching the other side, he noticed three stones with the same winged symbol as the large stone near the cave entrance.

"What are those, lass?" he asked, pointing to the stones.

"They are caches that Nocturnal uses to provide us with things. If we're lucky and she desires to see you, there will be armor inside that we will be required to wear in order to begin the ceremony."

"What ceremony?" he asked warily.

"It's just what we must do to receive Nocturnal's blessing." Karliah replied quickly, moving towards one of the three stones. "Let's see if she has left us her armor.

Brynjolf watched as the elf placed her hand over the sign on the stone, it glowing for a moment before a hole appeared in the top. Not being use to magic, it surprised and slightly scared him to see something solid completely disappear. Karliah made a noise of happiness as she pulled out an intricate set of grey armor that shimmered in the dull cave lighting.

"Nocturnal is intrigued by us." She said happily. "Quickly, get your armor and put it on."

"No." Alor said suddenly, breaking the icy silence she had taken up.

"What?" Karliah replied dully, her face showing her confusion.

"I said no." Alor replied. "I'm not putting on your armor."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not one of you." The little elf spat, her eyes narrowed in anger. "I am here on a contract to kill Mercer Frey, not to play these little games."

"This is _not_ a game!" Karliah exclaimed. "We need to do this to kill Mercer! I wouldn't do this otherwise."

Alor crossed her arms, the small bit of her face that was visible shifting in frustration.

"Just do what she wants, lass." Brynjolf said, avoiding looking at her by moving to another of the stones and copying Karliah's movements. If the elf responded, he didn't hear as the stone began to make a humming noise that filled his head. He felt strange vibrations dance through his fingers as a dark hole appeared in the solid stone. The hall quieted and the vibrations stopped just as suddenly as they had started, leaving nothing left to do but reach inside.

_Talos_, he thought nervously as he stuck his hand into the magical hole, feeling cool metal between his fingers. Grabbing onto it, he pulled a more masculine version of Karliah's armor, its intricate details seemingly too perfect to be of this world. "This is incredible." He breathed, staring at the scaling plates and supple nature of the gear.

"Put it on, quickly." Karliah said, already stripping out of her armor and slipping the Nightingale stock on.

Brynjolf copied her, in too much awe to say much. The armor fit perfectly and seemed weightless. Snapping the hood into place, he felt as though he were wearing nothing. "This is unbelievable!"

An annoyed snort from behind him made him turn, allowing him to catch a glimpse of a nearly naked Alor in the process of pulling on a set identical to Karliah's. He felt a blush rush into his face, turning away from the unexpected sight. Her body was lean and strong, its slimness causing an unwanted twinge deep inside of him.

"We are ready for our test." Karliah announced, thankfully distracting Brynjolf from his misguided thoughts. "Follow me and step on one of the glyphs."

They did as she said, Brynjolf intentionally taking the glyph furthest from Alor. Once they were all standing where she had indicated, Karliah raised her arms up and shouted out into the large cavern. "I call upon you lady Nocturnal, Queen of Night and Empress of Shadow. Hear my voice."

A bright blue light suddenly appeared in the center of the cave, it's glow filling Brynjolf both with wonder and with dread.

"Ah, Karliah. I was wondering when I would hear from you again. Lose something did we?" a deep, womanly voice echoed out from the orb. Brynjolf shivered at the power he felt moving through him with the words.

"My lady, I have come before you to throw myself upon your mercy, to accept responsibility for my failure. I give myself to you." Karliah said sincerely, her voice small compared to the mystical orb's.

"You're already mine, Karliah. Your terms were struck long ago. What could _you_ possibly offer _me_ now?" Nocturnal called out.

"I have two others that wish to transact the oath. To serve you both in life and in death."

Alor made a strange strangled sound from her glyph. Brynjolf pulled his eyes from the orb to see her fully turned towards Karliah, her eyes filled with disbelief. _Didn't she tell the elf anything?_ He wondered as Nocturnal spoke again.

"You surprise me, Karliah. This offer is definitely weighted in my favor."

"My appetite for something exceeds my craving for wealth. Revenge." Karliah said, focusing on the daedra rather than the assassin.

"Revenge? How interesting. Very well, the conditions are acceptable. You may proceed."

"NO!" Alor shouted, her face turning towards the floating light.

"What's this? You do not wish to serve me, elf?"

"My life and my soul are pledged to another. I was not told that these were your terms." The elf called out, her voice strong and unafraid.

"Yes, Emptiness has a claim on you." The orb shuddered, the daedra's voice becoming hard. "But you have come here and accepted my armor. That abomination can wait to take your soul until _my_ terms are met! Now swear the oath to me!"

Alor fell silent, her head bowing slightly. Brynjolf didn't understand what the elf and Nocturnal spoke of, but he could see her feelings of defeat clearly in the slump of her shoulders and the familiar despondent look he briefly caught in her downcast eyes. It wasn't hard to see that she did not want what Karliah had somehow convinced her to accept. For a moment, he felt pity for the elf.

Karliah cleared her throat, directing Brynjolf's focus to her. "Lady Nocturnal, we accept your terms. We dedicate ourselves to you both as your avengers and your saviors. We will honor you both in this life and the next until your conditions have been met."

"Very well, I name your associates Nightingales and I restore your status to the same, Karliah. And in the future, I suggest you refrain from disappointing me again." Nocturnal said, a blue light descending from the ceiling and surrounding each of them. Brynjolf could feel the strange jolt of power enter him, moving into every cell of his body with a surge of energy. It was unlike anything he had ever felt as the light evaporated back to wherever it had come from, the cavern falling into silence.

Karliah was the first to move, stepping off her glyph and walking to the central stone platform. "Now that you've transacted the oath, it's time to reveal the final piece of the puzzle." She said, turning to Brynjolf, ignoring Alor's silent stare. "The thing he stole from the Twilight Sepulcher, the Skeleton Key, isn't only restricted to physical barriers. All of us have untapped abilities, the potential to wield great power secured within our minds. Once you realize that you can access these traits, the potential becomes limitless. If the key isn't returned to its lock in the Twilight Sepulcher the Guild's luck won't change."

"So this is why you needed both of us to fight Mercer" Brynjolf said, following the elf's quick steps from the large room.

"Exactly." She answered, moving back towards the secret entrance and Skyrim.

"So where is Mercer?" he asked once they had reached the brisk night air of the open wilderness.

"I will show you after we get some sleep." She replied, moving back towards Riften. "We'll sleep in the inn so as to avoid questions and will start off first thing in the morning.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 41**

Alor followed the two thieves into Riften in cold silence. She was trapped in some sick little game that forced her to swear an oath that involved not only her mortal self, but her soul. That was a problem on many levels. Sithis already had claim on her after death, as he did all of his children. Her primary obligation was to the Void, not Nocturnal. Then, the idea of serving a daedra in death with other _thieves_ that had been Nightingales made her cringe. It could very well mean an eternity away from _her_ family and serving the future assassins of the Brotherhood.

Yet, even worse than the tricks Karliah had played to get her to see Nocturnal was that the woman had neglected to tell her Brynjolf was going to be there. When she had seen him walking up the hill towards the Nightingale Hall, she felt an embarrassed fear run through her. Their last meeting had been filled with such anguish that she had no idea how to even react to his presence. In the past, this would have caused her severe distress and led to some sort of gruesome kill. Now, though, those feelings were washed away by an angry roar of her awakened dragon blood, her frenzied killing replaced by a deep rage for Karliah and the dull throb of love lost.

The awkward trio entered the quiet inn late into the night and quickly snatched up three rooms. Alor said nothing as she rushed by her unwanted companions to the safety of privacy. She needed to be away from _him_ and the uncomfortable feelings of his stares on her back. She didn't know what was in his mind as he glanced at her when he thought she couldn't see him, but she assumed it was nothing good. "He hates me." she said to herself, as her feet took up a quick circle that she paced in the room despite being exhausted after nearly two days without sleep. "Why him? Why out of all the thieves in Riften did Karliah choose him?"

She knew the answer, of course. It was because Karliah needed her Trinity and to find favor with that daedra she worshipped. Alor wanted no part of it. She only agreed so as to fulfill her contract that by duty she was bound to. She had assumed Nocturnal would have been like her dealings with Mehrunes Dagon, where a simple task would end up giving her a powerful weapon. She never dreamed that Nocturnal would demand an oath tying her soul into service for Sithis knows how long. _And then to bring him along_, she ruminated, coming back full circle to her more immediate and painful problem.

He had looked just as she remembered him. Strong shouldered with a thick chest that he held straight with confidence. His blue eyes still shone out their quick cunning and playful greed that she had seen the first day they met, but she could also read in them a worry of some sort that made his face look weary. She didn't know when it happened, but sometime after the initial shock of seeing him and before the hot anger set in, she felt that familiar pang of sadness rip through her more acutely than it had in months. It was like pulling an arrow out of a fresh wound and rubbing salt into the raw flesh. Her heart burned and ached while her soul and mind raged. _If only I had killed her and returned home with Aventus, _she thought bitterly, grabbing a nearby vase and shattering it against the wall in frustration.

"Why do I keep putting myself in these situations?" she cried out as a tentative knock on her door.

"What?" she yelled out, whirling towards the door.

The knob turned slowly and the door opened a slight crack, as if the person on the other side was unsure whether to come in. "Can I come in, lass?"

Brynjolf's gentle, yet uneasy voice knocked the angry energy from Alor's muscles. Suddenly she felt weak and defeated, sinking to the bed in exhaustion.

Getting no answer, Brynjolf opened the door wider, his large frame blocking almost all of the light from the hall as he peered in on her. She could tell he had something on his mind by the way he let his fingers trail through his hair, twisting the red tips as she had often watched him do whenever he was thinking or worried. She looked at him from under the hood and mask that she still wore, completely wasted of all emotion.

"Are you all right, lass?" he finally said awkwardly from the doorway, his eyes darting around the room to anything and everything but her.

"Fine." She said coolly, wishing more than ever that she hadn't agreed to Karliah's contract.

"I heard something break and I…" he started, trailing off while a bright flush moved up his neck.

"I broke a vase."

"I see that." He said, his eyes darting towards her before moving away. "I…well…" he started again awkwardly, his hand moving to his neck and rubbing it anxiously.

"What?" she said staring at him, fearing what he had come to say.

"I'm sorry that she didn't tell you what was going on." He finally said, stepping inside the room, the door swinging shut behind him. "I thought she told you."

"No, she didn't." Alor replied.

"I just wanted to say that –"

"Brynjolf, stop." She interrupted him, her voice cracking slightly as her unforgotten heartache throbbed harshly in her chest. "I've hurt you, you've hurt me, isn't that enough? Do you have to come here and remind me of _everything_?"

"Iveri, I-" he started again, stopping abruptly as she let out a pitiful whimper.

"Just go." she said, her voice becoming higher as she desperately attempted to maintain calm. "Please, Brynjolf. Go."

He gave her a strange look, his lips moving into a deep frown. "All right, lass." He said opening the door and slipping out.

Alor stared at the place he had stood, her mouth twitching as she fought to keep her tears contained. "Sithis, what have I done to deserve this?" she whispered into the loneliness of the empty room.

.

.

Brynjolf shut the door to his room quietly, moving back to his bed. From the other side of the wall he could hear a few abrupt movements and then silence fell. Occasionally, he thought he heard what sounded like a gasp for air or a low moan coming from the little elf's room, but when he leaned closer to the rough wooden wall it would be silent.

Guilt washed over him at the look she had when he tried to talk to her. It mirrored the expression from that night in Markarth that still haunted his dreams. The anger and confusion he had felt over a year ago had died over time, his nature unable to hold onto something so poisonous as hatred. He no longer wished for dreadful things when it came to her and only wanted there to be no awkwardness between them while they worked together. Yet, seeing her still react towards him the way she did made him feel something akin to shame.

"You have nothing to feel bad about." He told himself softly, lying back on his pillow and staring at the ceiling. "You did the right thing."

Yet, as logical as the words sounded, his heart did not believe it and the ache only hurt more.


	43. A Warm Welcome to Irkgnthand

**Chapter 42**

The morning was a frenzy of activity as the newly appointed Nightingales quickly gathered their things and some supplies before marching northwest. Brynjolf hadn't slept well for the second night in a row, making the early morning journey a struggle. Still, as they pressed on past mountains and lakes, he felt a sort of peace come over him with the rhythmic steps of their forced jog. It cleared his head from his worries of the Guild, his anger over Mercer, and even his mixed emotions over Alor. The fresh air of Skyrim mixed with the hard burn of his muscles was just what he needed to relieve so much of the stress he had been carrying.

It took the better part of the day with minimal stops before Karliah finally started to slow their pace. Brynjolf looked around, figuring them to be somewhere west of Windhelm, the air cooler and drier than in Riften feeling strange on his lips and in his lungs.

"Are we almost there, lass?" he called ahead to the Dunmer thief, who was walking cautiously up towards what appeared to be a dwemer ruin.

"Yes. I believe Mercer is here." She whispered back to them.

"And where exactly is here?" he asked, moving to her side.

"Irkngthand." She said, pulling out her bow and readying it. "The resting place of the Eyes of the Falmer."

Brynjolf recognized the name, recalling Delvin having spoken of the Eyes as one of the long-lost treasures of Skyrim. Like so many things, he believed it to be another one of Delvin's tales, but it appeared that Mercer did not and had gone into the looming ruin in search of the priceless artifacts. "Are you expecting an attack already, lass?" he asked, nodding towards her bow.

"Mercer could be anywhere." She replied. "You both should ready yourselves." She called back to where Alor stood in silent despondence.

"Alright. Let's go find the bastard if he's here." Brynjolf replied, pulling out his daggers and mentally preparing himself for an attack.

He was happy that he did as they crept towards the massive structure that was built into the mountain. There were so many columns and levels connected by bridges that it would be impossible to see every potential hiding spot for the murderous traitor. He didn't put it past Mercer one bit to hid in the shadows and stab any of them in the back after learning what the Breton did to the Guild he claimed to live and breath for.

_There's someone here,_ Brynjolf thought as the sound of a fire burning and the smell of rancid meat wafted towards them on the slight breeze. He felt the hairs on his neck snap up as the sound of a sword being drawn sang out from around one of the many stone pillars, a deep hum coming from an unknown enemy.

Brynjolf looked over at Karliah, nodding his head in the direction of the noise to indicate that he was going to go check it out. She gave him a nod of understanding and moved slowly backwards, an arrow ready should he come back running with enemies on his back. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself to move forward when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Turning, Alor's scarlet eyes met his. She shook her head at him and moved ahead, her sword still at her side and two little knives in her hands.

_Don't be stupid, lass_, he thought as she quickly crept around the corner to face whatever lay beyond. Brynjolf felt a panic in him that she would rush ahead armed only with knives without any assistance from either him or Karliah. _She'll get herself killed_, he thought as he followed her, unable to keep up with her quick pace and still be silent.

"ARGH!" a cry sounded from ahead, the voice deep and throaty like an orc's. Brynjolf moved quicker, following the noise into a short stone tunnel where Alor stood over a bloody body.

She gave him a quick look before turning her head rapidly in the opposite direction. "Get down!" she shouted as an arrow sung by her and hit the wall just shy of Brynjolf's head.

"Bandits!" Brynjolf called, moving into cover.

"There's a few of them." She said back, glancing at a shuffling noise that marked Karliah's appearance.

Brynjolf glanced up at where the archer perched on a stone walkway. To the left he could make out a camp with the fire that he had smelt earlier. A few loud voices seemed to be coming from that area as the bandits prepared themselves for an attack.

"Any idea how to get up there?" Brynjolf asked, glancing around and seeing no ramp that would take them to the upper level.

"There's a set of wooden stairs back to the right." Karliah said, pointing to something that was out of his line of sight. "If we run, we probably can make it without getting shot by an arrow."

"Why don't you stay back here and cover me." Brynjolf said, gripping his daggers tightly. "Take out the archer and I'll go for the rest in the camp."

"Or, I could-" Karliah started when Alor let out a frustrated breath.

"Enough talking. They're just bandits." She snapped at them, running forward without waiting for a response.

"She is going to get herself killed!" Karliah exclaimed, moving into the opening of the tunnel and letting her arrow fly towards the archer, striking him in the arm. "Go after her!"

Brynjolf didn't need to be told twice. He rushed out from his cover and saw that Alor was already up near the camp, her sword drawn. Sprinting towards the ramp, he heard metal meeting metal just as a loud shout came from behind him.

"I'm gonna slit your belly like an old woman's purse!" an orc laughed at him, rising his war axe above his head.

Brynjolf jumped to the side as the axe came crashing down, his adrenaline pumping and putting his reflexes on edge. "Not if I slit you first!" he spat back at the orc, rushing forward with both daggers, taking advantage of the slow speed of the bandit's weapons. Feeling his blades sink into the vulnerable flesh of the orc, Brynjolf quickly pulled back and let the bandit fall dead at his feet.

"Archers!" Karliah called out suddenly.

Brynjolf followed the point of her arrow to see a row of bandits equipped with bows on an even higher stone bridge that joined two crumbling towers. He quickly dove into a tight corner just as the sound of arrows shrieked by him. "How do we get up there?" he shouted across to where Karliah hid behind a large pillar.

"I don't know." She yelled back. "Where's Alor?"

Brynjolf looked up the nearby stairs that led to the bandit's tents and fire. It was silent now; the only sound the shrill chink of arrows hitting the stones around him. "I don't know!" he yelled back.

Suddenly a loud boom filled the air, causing his ears to pop. Looking up, he watched in bewilderment as all the archers were thrown off from the bridge by a visible wave of sound, screaming as they fell to their deaths. "By Talos, she shouted!" he exclaimed as Alor ran across the now empty bridge, her sword held high and crashing with a half-seen foe that waited in the opposite tower.

Brynjolf moved from his corner and watched the brief fight. Alor's fast and jerky movements were not the fluid sort he was use to seeing from trained warriors, but they were surprisingly affective as the large Nord she fought had his chest sliced open with the point of her blade. It was clearly a mortal wound, even Brynjolf could see that from where he stood, but Alor still raised her blade and cleaved the man's head off, kicking it off the bridge as it rolled by her little feet.

Silence fell over the ruins of Irkngthand, Alor casually walking back over the bridge and disappearing into one of the towers. Brynjolf looked over to Karliah who gave him a shocked look at what they had just seen.

"She really is the Dragonborn." The Dunmer thief said, moving to where the Nord stood. "I didn't know whether to believe her or not."

"Aye." Brynjolf managed to breath out. He had never encountered the Dragonborn during the Dragon Crisis. Nor had he ever hear anyone use the power of their Voice. It was a surreal experience to hear and feel the immense energy that had come from the little elf and see it crash into the fragile bodies of the bandits. It was unlike anything he had ever imagined.

"That's all of them." Alor said, suddenly appearing on the platform above them.

"Yes, I think it is." Karliah replied, putting her bow onto her back. "Let's get inside before any more show up."

Brynjolf moved next to Alor as they made their way around the ruin searching for a door inside. He wanted to say something to her, but didn't know how to phrase what he was thinking. He had denied and doubted her claim at being the Dragonborn, despite the reaction she got in Markarth and her possession of one of the strange metal masks. Yet, he couldn't ignore the evidence any longer and his amazement at her shouting quickly overcame any awkward feelings or embarrassment he had towards her.

"Here's a door!" Karliah called, quickly prying open the lock and swinging open the doors.

Brynjolf didn't follow her in immediately, instead stopping and turning towards the silent assassin. "Lass, that was incredible." He said quickly, feeling dumb at how silly he sounded.

Alor's eyes narrowed and she snorted under her mask. "You're a Nord. You could train yourself to do it too."

"But that's not the same." He pressed.

"Why, the shouts of Ulfric Stormcloak and the Greybeards are no different." She said darkly, her body tensing as he continued to stare at her.

"They can't be the same. The Greybeards and Ulfric aren't Dragonborn!" he said enthusiastically.

"Neither am I." She said sternly, the splatters of blood on her face and mask emphasizing her angry tone. "The Dragonborn is a good person, not a murder. Right?"

Brynjolf stared at her as she walked into Irkngthand, the darkness swallowing her up. His face became warm as he remembered shouting those words in Markarth, his anger and shock helping him to deny the obvious truth of who she was. At the time he had meant everything that he had said, but now he felt ashamed. Especially after seeing how badly she reacted to his leaving. _How badly she still is_, he thought glumly, stepping into to Irkngthand and all the dangers that it might hold.


	44. The Ruins

**AN: I was going to add in Brynjolf's POV to this chapter, but just didn't have time to finish writing it, what with Superbowl parties and all. So sorry that it's brief. Also, I've started another Skyrim story with the companions. It's called **_**From the Bottom of a Bottle**_** and is rated M due to the language in the first few chapters. Please check it out and let me know what you think… :-) **

**Chapter 43**

Biting back angry words, Alor rushed into Irkngthand, the inside looking like every other Dwemer ruin she had ever been in. It was dank, crumbling, and filled with the loud hiss and ticking of ancient mechanical contraptions. It always amazed her that for a race so good at inventing strange and wondrous things the dwarves had been so efficiently eradicated from all of Tamriel.

"Looks like Mercer's already been here." Karliah called out from the bottom of a wide set of stairs.

Alor looked dispassionately at a few, relatively fresh corpses lying about a fire, their blood staining the grey stone floor. From behind her the quiet steps of Brynjolf echoed softly as he entered the ancient ruin. She moved quickly down the steps, her frustration and anger at his complete audacity to praise her for shouting still coursing through her veins. _Just kill Mercer and leave_, she told herself again to block out the continued painfully persistent feelings she had towards the fiery thief.

"We should see if we can try to find him before we have to set up camp for the night." Karliah called, walking up another flight of stairs and moving cautiously down a hallway.

"Fine by me." Alor whispered, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of Brynjolf staring at her back. Taking up a quick pace, she soon passed up Karliah. The quick pace helped her to avoid the feeling of Brynjolf's eyes while the exertion on her tired body helped to dull her mind. Moving from room to room, She used the trail of broken automatons and Dwemer scrap metal to guide her progress towards her soon-to-be dead target.

Eventually, she led her unwanted companions into a smaller room that was filled with metal contraptions and moving gears. Alor instinctively slowed her pace, knowing that rooms like these often had strange little metal men just waiting to pop out of their metallic shell.

"Why are you slowing, lass?" Brynjolf asked, trotting up to where she stood with her sword ready.

Alor could feel the heat from his body as he neared her, making her tense uncomfortably as she scanned the room. "There." She managed to say in an even, unemotional voice despite the odd mixture of anger and misery that seemed to fill her whenever he approached her.

"I don't see anything." He said following her pointed finger. "Looks just like another metal pipe."

"It's not." Alor replied in a tone harsher than she intended. She was on edge and she was so _frustrated_. Everything seemed to go wrong when it came to _anything_ having to do with the Thieves Guild. Her whole messy affair with the Nord, followed by her witnessed assassination of Maven Black-Briar, then being stabbed by the Guild head, and finally being nearly killed by a band of Black-Briar thugs had all made her list of bad of experiences just a little longer than it had been prior to taking Niruin's contract. _Even that didn't go as planned_, she thought darkly at how she had been unable to even administer a simple poison as Babette had instructed.

After months of heartache, despair, and obsessively working, Alor had just begun to be able to ignore the constant loneliness she felt and the persistent longing when Karliah had suddenly reappeared in her life. Once again, she found herself in a state of chaotic emotions and mood swings that would have left her completely debilitated or insanely murderous a year before. Thankfully, she had a better sense of self and was able to maintain her control, but it became a difficult struggle to manage her emotions with Brynjolf so close.

_Just do the job, Alor. You're the Listener. This is just one more kill and then you're done with these people_.

She let out a long breath, pulling the task at hand in front of all the linger thoughts and doubts were circling about her head. Adjusting her grip on her sword, she swiftly moved towards what appeared to be a round metal door in the pipe. Immediately, a whirling noise with rapid clicks sounded and a golden ball dropped to the floor. Alor brought her sword down on the thing, not waiting for it to open. Yet, it wasn't enough. The dwarven sphere opened up to reveal a metallic man complete with long, razor sharp arms. She could hear surprised shouts coming from both Brynjolf and Karliah as she dodged a swipe by the automaton's arm and brought her sword across its body, cleaving it in two.

"What was that thing?" Brynjolf called out, rushing to where she stood and staring at it in wonder.

"Does it matter?" Alor asked tartly, moving forward without a second glance, following a turning hallway to larger room. She frowned as she looked at a pillar that was rigged with flaming traps. _Who knows what else is in this room_, she thought darkly as she moved forward, carefully avoiding the sputtering flames. Up ahead she noticed more, fully awake automatons, wandering the room in simple loops.

"Get down low and move silently." Alor whispered in a commanding voice back to the two thieves that followed her. They had no idea how nasty the metal men could be when there were multiples of them. She did. It was not something she wanted to deal with on top of everything else.

She watched as her unwanted companions did as she said, their eyes looking at each other with some significance. _Just focus on the contract_, Alor reminded herself as she crept forward, timing her steps with the whirling noises that signaled a sphere drawing near. It took nearly five minutes to get across the open space, but at long last they made it to a sloping ramp, completely out of the machine's sensors.

"There's a door up ahead." Alor said to Karliah, sheathing her sword and standing.

"Good, let's keep moving." The Dunmer thief said, taking up the lead once more.

"You've fought these things before, haven't you lass?" Brynjolf asked awkwardly as he moved up next to her, their mirrored steps a few paces behind Karliah's.

"Yes." She said tensely, happy that her hood was large enough to allow her to avoid the Nord's gaze.

"I've never seen anything like them before." He replied, his voice losing some of the confidence it normally had.

"Now you have."

Brynjolf sighed and picked up his steps, moving closer to Karliah. Alor watched him as he began whispering with the thief about how they planned to kill the missing Breton. For a moment she was surprised that they were even discussing Mercer's death, figuring that they understood that was her role in all of this.

Feeling her sense of purpose and control slipping away, she quickly bit her lip to keep her mind sharp and focused. _He's not theirs to kill_, she thought darkly, her anger spiking after spending most of the day repressing it. _This needs to end now, _she decided quickly, letting her anger guide her actions.

Marching up towards the pair, she moved in front of them and stopped, her scarlet eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "I need to make one thing _very clear_ before we move on." She hissed in a voice that made both of the thieves shift nervously. "_You_ did the sacrament so _I_ could kill Mercer." She said pointing at Karliah. "You felt the need to get your little daedra friend involved and bring _him_ along for the journey, but this is still _my contract_. I will not hesitate to kill either of you should you deny me the completion of what is rightfully mine. Mercer will die by my hand and mine alone. Is that clear?" she finished, her chest heaving irregularly while her hands formed tight little fists.

"He killed Gallus, I think I'm entitled to seek my own revenge." Karliah said quietly, avoiding Alor's bright red eyes.

"Then you shouldn't have prayed for me." She spat. "The last place I want to be right now is in a Dwemer ruin filled with metal guardians searching for a man who has unnatural power from a daedra. Least of all would I want to be with either of you. I'm done with this little game of yours, Karliah. I kill Mercer or you. That's the rules when you make a pact with Sithis."

"Karliah, just let her have the kill." Brynjolf said quietly, his eyes lingering on Alor with a strange look.

"Fine." Karliah said, moving toward the door, her voice shaking slightly.

_Good_, Alor thought, feeling some calm fill her after establishing a level of dominance over the situation. _Now just to find Mercer_.

**AN: So I wrote an ending to this but it was rushed and people really hated it. So please be patient, I may not get the ending up for a few weeks.**


	45. Confessions

**AN: This is short, but should tide you over for another week! Sorry for the delay again and excuse the quick editing.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 44<strong>

Brynjolf watched the little elf carefully as she became the unsettling creature from the first night she appeared in the Flagon. He could see the ferocity and the danger in her posture that had originally made him regret recruiting her to the Guild. Still, even with knowing what she was it was slightly alarming to see her take on the air of an assassin, complete with very real threats and an utter carelessness for companionship, brotherhood, or any other bond that all the thieves in the guild felt at least minimally for each other. He had seen this shade to her character in those early days of their acquaintance, but he had let those rough spots of her personality be smoothed over by his happiness at her success, his understanding of what he knew of her situation, and a sense of camaraderie that he hadn't felt towards any of the other thieves due to their mutual loss of family and the aloneness it brought.

Then he had started feeling more for her. He began needing her and wanting her in a way that he never had experienced with anyone in his life ever before, only to have it end horribly. In the year that had followed their journey to Markarth, he had ruminated on their relationship and his feelings and everything that had happened every single night. He had trusted the elf, told her things only his mentor, Gaius, knew. He shared his more private life with her and had let his need to have a true family and have someone that was there for him no matter the situation possess him and guide his actions. But it was only after months of reflection that he realized that that was truly what had drawn him to her; it was his need of something more meaningful and stronger than his bond with dwindling band of thieves that had drawn him to her. After she showed her own weaknesses outside of Goldenglow Estate, his view on her had changed and not a day went by that he didn't at some point regret it.

"You shouldn't have prayed for me then," Alor's voice ripped through his thoughts, drawing him back to reality. Though her voice was dark and commanding, he couldn't help but notice that it held a hint of her frustration and even a tinge of what he had come to recognize as fear.

This too was something he only fully recognized after months of reflection. There was some sort of primal fear that tainted most of the assassin's words and actions whenever there was an element in her life she could not control. From her confronting him about his drinking and her fear of what that meant for the guild leadership to her possessive nature over him in Whiterun, he was able to link it all back to what he decided was fear. Even now, as he heard himself tell Karliah to back down, he thought he could almost feel Alor's anxiety over situation that was definitely far different from whatever lie older elf had told her in order to get her to come.

_The lass has been tricked enough,_ he thought to himself as Karliah conceded to his request to let the assassin have the task of killing his former leader. Looking at his former lover as she followed her kinswoman into the ruin, he felt a bit of the numbness that had filled him ever since seeing her again lift. He felt an odd satisfaction at being able to give her some small victory over the chaotic mission, adding another layer to his grabbled feelings over an unacknowledged longing and his own resolve to be over her.

Sighing slightly, he moved behind his companions and let his eyes silently take in the wide tunnels of the ruin and the bright copper and brass of the Dwemer architecture. It occasionally brought back memories of Markarth with the similarities in design, but was spared some of the harder emotions that he now linked with that city due to the growing smell of dank feces and charred meat. Clearly there were things living in the ruin beyond strange machines.

"Slow down," Alor suddenly whispered, her gloved hand rising into the air as a signal to stop.

"What is it?" Karliah asked, her body tensing as the younger elf began to inch towards the opening at the end of their hall.

She didn't say anything in response, but crept forward with such skill it surprised him. Her fast little steps didn't make a noise as she moved along the shadows of the wall and slipped out of view into whatever was in the hall beyond. He felt an edge of anxiety begin to fill him as unwanted thoughts about her safety filled his head. Realizing what he was doing, he shook his quickly to scatter the thoughts. _Stop this now, _he ordered himself. _She's not your concern anymore. You are not responsible for her and you don't love her._

Yet his advice seemed hollow as a loud screech echoed from the area she had crept to, followed by another and another. He felt his heart begin to pound in his chest and a panicked sweat moisten his skin as he began to move forward.

"Brynjolf, no," Karliah said, reaching out and grabbing his armor.

Another scream echoed towards them, fainter than the others. He felt his anger rising despite his logic telling him that he shouldn't worry about her and that it wasn't his duty. Shoving the Dunmer's hand off he moved forward. "She needs our help!"

"If she wants to be a fool and rush in without us, let her," Karliah yelled out, her voice harsh and impatient. "I'd rather she get injured over you. I need you to fight Mercer!"

"You need her for that too!" he exclaimed, slowing his progress as confusion of his feelings and her words filled him. "Isn't that why you brought her here? What good is it if she dies!"

"It's clear she's not here to help us, Brynjolf. Even if Nocturnal has marked her, she is as bad of a Nightingale as Mercer was. We can't trust her and that may be worse than not having the extra strength when we finally find him!"

"What do you expect when you trick the lass into taking an oath to a daedra?" he snapped, his original anger returning. "At least I knew what I was getting into, but Alor, she didn't – " he stopped as the sounds of footsteps began to echo down the hall, the little elf's voice calling out towards them.

"It's clear ahead," she said moments before appearing back in the hall, her red eyes bright under her mask and hood. "There are a lot of Falmer in these ruins. We can probably safely use their camp for tonight."

Looking back at Karliah, he saw her shake her head and begin to move towards them at a quick pace. "We don't have time to make camp," she called out as the assassin began to lead them through another wide tunnel, her voice sounding strained and lacking its normal confidence.

"How many Dewmer ruins have you been in, Karliah?" she asked as the tunnel turned sharply to reveal two Falmer corpses sprawled across the stone floor.

"Why does that matter?" the older thief snapped impatiently.

"Because I don't think you grasp how large they are. This isn't some little Nord ruin that you've scavenged from. These are huge cities underground that are filled with traps and machines and other creatures. You don't simply run through it in a day and reach the end," she spat, roughly kicking the body of a Falmer out of her path as she led them down an adjoining tunnel.

"But Mercer has been here for days before us. He'll be gone if we don't hurry! What don't you understand about that?" Karliah growled, her throaty voice becoming angry and impatient.

"He won't be," she replied sharply, barely glancing back at the frustrated thief.

"How can you be sure?" Karliah pressed.

"Because he has to clear his own path through everything and find what he's looking for. Maybe you don't see it, but I can tell where he's been and what he's been doing. He checked every single hall we've passed and has opened every single gate. He doesn't know where he's going, so start acting like a hunter and follow your prey. He's not moving fast!" she snapped as they entered an open room with high, stone ceilings.

Brynjolf gasped as he took in the huge columns of stone that shot up from between strangely crafted tents. A few Falmer bodies lay about a cooking area, their freshly spilled blood dancing with warm light that came off of a nearby fire. "Was that all of them, lass?" he asked as he quickly realized that there were nearly seven tents and only three dead snow elves.

"The rest of this colony met Mercer's blade," she said darkly, pointing towards a shadowed corner far on the opposite end of the room that was piled with Falmer corpses. "These one's were preparing to burn the bodies when I killed them."

"How do you know?" Karliah asked again, her voice somewhat softer than it had been as she took in the strange sight.

"I've watched them do it in other ruins," she answered, moving towards one of their tents and dropping down heavily. "Like I said before, Mercer has a lot of work slowing him down. I moved ahead a little and there his trail of corpses are getting fresher. We should rest for a few hours and then move on."

"That's a smart plan, lass," Brynjolf said as Karliah seemed indecisive. "I'll take the first watch."

"I don't know," Karliah continued as she wandered about the camp aimlessly. "We can't let him escape."

"Mercer won't escape, lass," he said reassuringly, moving towards his fellow thief and leading her towards the fire. "But we need to be our best. Alor seems to know more about these kinds of places than we do. Let's listen to her for now and push on after we all get a little sleep."

Karliah looked at him for a moment, her light eyes showing her weariness and, for the first time, just how old she was. She and Gaius were Mercer's seniors by nearly a decade, making the last twenty years of being a fugitive even harder on the elf. "I have to kill him this time, Brynjolf," she whispered as he helped her to the ground and helped make up her bed. "He needs to pay for what he's done."

"And he will," he answered. "He won't get away from us. This will be over in a day or two, I promise."

"If you promise, I will trust you," she answered heavily, sinking into the bed.

"You need your strength too," he said softly as her eyes began to sink close despite her obvious efforts to stay awake. "You have been pushing yourself too hard. Sleep while you can."

She nodded briefly before her eyes sunk shut and remained still, her breathing shortly becoming regular and deep. Brynjolf gave her still for a satisfied look before moving back towards Alor and the fire. "This is a good idea," he said to the assassin, his eyes trying to catch hers. "I don't think she's really slept since leaving Riften."

"She's too passionate about this and is making bad decisions," Alor answered sharply, avoiding his gaze as she leaned back and stretched her arms. "Even if Mercer has cleared a bit of a path, anything that he left alive will be on its guard. I'm not going to get stuck by a bunch of Falmer arrows just because she can't control herself in her revenge."

"You can't really blame her, lass," he replied softly, his heart feeling heavy as his own weariness settled in on him and the anxious tension between them thickened.

"Yes, I can," she said bitterly, rolling over so that she no longer faced him. "Killing based on emotion only leads to a hole in your side. And that is something I don't want to repeat."

He looked at her curled form and watched as her muscles tensed and her arms moved to wrap around her knees. Some emotion floating between pity and remorse filled him as he was reminded not only of her nearly fatal injury, but that night he found her on the shores of the lake surrounding Goldenglow. She had spoke in the same tones then and had wrapped herself up in a small ball, just as she was doing now. _She's protecting herself, _he thought grimly.

"You don't have to worry so much," he said quietly after a moment or two of silence. "I'm here and I won't let that happen."

She snorted and sat up so suddenly it made him jump slightly. "Forgive me, Brynjolf, if that does little to comfort me," she started, her red eyes piercing him with accusations. "My trust in you is pretty minimal after you betrayed me and sent me away to be killed by that Blackbriar brat after claiming to care about me."

"I _did _care about you!" he exclaimed in disbelief, his jaw tightening as his anger towards her began to return. "It was _you_ that betrayed me!"

"How?" she demanded, her red eyes flashing as her voice dropped to a soft hiss. "All I did was trust you! I even started to change my life and my responsibilities so I could be with you!"

"I don't see how you did _that,_" he snorted angrily, crossing his arms as he struggled to keep his voice quiet for the sake of Karliah. "You came to the Guild to kill Maven and did that even though you knew what she meant for the our survival. But even worse than that, you _murdered_ people in my family! How is that at all changing your life around? Seems like you've been acting the part of assassin this entire time!" he finished with a bitter laugh, all of the dark emotions he from a year ago rising in his throat. "And I thought I _loved_ you!"

"And you're such a _noble thief_ that my being an assassin was enough to destroy those feelings," she stated bitterly, slumping back to the floor stiffly. "Don't worry, you made that very clear in Markarth."

At the mention of that night Brynjolf felt his anger quickly replaced by guilt and sadness. She had been crumpled into a ball that night too, but instead of tension and bitterness filling her she had been consumed by grief and was begging for him to not abandon her. Her pleas still haunted his nightmares and echoed in his mind even while he was awake. There were many nights when he woke and silently wished that he had acted differently before realizing that he was succumbing to his weakness for her and would forcefully tell himself that he did the right thing.

Yet no words or reassurance could ever stop the ache he felt in his chest every single day since leaving her. Everyday he carried the burden of regret, anger, and sorrow hidden away beneath a cheery façade and a mundane ritual of activity. The pain had lessened with time, but it was still there every single day and had been growing stronger ever since seeing her again.

"You broke my heart, lass," he finally whispered out into the darkness, his voice shaking with his emotion. "You betrayed the Guild and me with your deceit. How could I love someone I don't know or trust?"

His words died dully, leaving behind a strange silence that was only interrupted by the noise of the fire. He knew she wasn't sleeping, but she seemed reluctant to speak. Glancing back at her, he saw that her body remained completely stiff and still, hidden beneath her Nightingale cloak. Just when he thought she would never answer, her voice weakly disrupted the quiet, quivering slightly as she spoke.

"You broke mine back," she answered, a small sniffle escaping from the hood and cloak she had taken refuge under. "And it hurts to be near you."

He turned back towards her in disbelief at her confession. For the first time since seeing her again it was like being with the Alor that had trusted him and had made him fall in love. _Why did you have to be what you are?_ he thought sadly as he watched her body make small jerking movements that made him want to reach out and comfort her. He _wanted_ to be with her and love her again as he did. But he just couldn't do it. He couldn't make himself move on the impulses that ran through him. He couldn't bring himself to comfort his own sorrow or fill the void that she had left in him. To be with her was dangerous to not only him, but also to those around him. She was a cold killer and nothing more.

Turning back towards the fire, he focused on the flames and the small snaps and crackles of the wood as her sharp intakes of breath tickled his ears. It seemed like a long time that she cried before she finally fell silent and nothing but his own breathing and the fire made any noise in the large room. Looking back towards her, she finally looked relaxed in a tear-wrought sleep.

"You did the right thing," he mumbled to himself, forcing himself to not look at her. "Stay strong. She'll be gone when this is over."

He repeated the words to himself for hours, letting the fire die down and the room grow cold. _Fitting,_ he thought as he rose stiffly to wake Karliah, his body feeling sore and stiff from sitting on the ground all night so that his body felt nearly as bad as his mood. _The Gods just love to make us suffer…_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: a bit abrupt, I know, but this is all I had written over the last few weeks and wanted to give you <strong>_**something!**_** Thanks for being patient again. There will be probably two or three more chapters before this is over (and they may be long!). Expect them in the next few weeks :-) **


	46. Mercer

**AN: Once more, forgive some of the editing. I'm going out of town for a week and wanted to get this up before I left. If there are any huge errors let me know so I can fix them once I get back. I think I caught most of the big ones :)**

**On another note, there will only be one or two more chapters. So it is soon coming to an end.**

**Chapter 45**

The darkness of the ruin did little to indicate how long they had slept, but Alor assumed it must have been nearly five hours by the state of the wood in the fire. It had burnt down to fragile fragments of charred ash and wood with only a faint glow of red and heat coming from its core. For a moment she let her eyes wander from the dying embers to Brynjolf's tired face wondering why he didn't wake anyone to watch their camp while he slept. Yet as fast as the thought and worry came it disappeared under her feelings of resentment and anger towards the man and the entire situation she felt she had been tricked into.

_Complete the job, return to Whiterun, train Aventus, and listen to the Night Mother,_ she repeated to herself over and over as they small group silently moved across the cavernous hall they had slept in and down the only path attaching to it. _Honor the Night Mother, complete the job, get home, get new contracts,_ her thoughts continued as they followed the ever downward slopping twists and turns of the hall. _Spill Mercer's blood, honor Sithis, finish the job, and never see any of them again_…

"There's a door up ahead," Karliah's throaty voice called out, interrupting her cyclical thoughts. "I think we should be on our guard."

"Aye, from what we've seen I doubt that we'll be lucky enough to reach Mercer without seeing another soul," Brynjolf added, his voice sounding weary to Alor's ears.

Moving up towards the two thieves, she let her scarlet eyes again move to his face, making out dark bags in the dim light the Dwemer machines still provided after ages of abandonment and neglect. She felt the familiar stir of concern that came with the possessiveness she had developed for the man during her time at the Guild, but she pushed it down as Karliah slowly cracked the metal door open with a loud squeal.

"In the name of all the glittering gold…" Brynjolf muttered as the light poured into the small hall from the most spectacular room any of them had ever seen.

Alor pushed her way past the thieves and into what was a huge cavern tall enough to hold towers several stories high and long enough that she wasn't even able to make out the end. Pressing herself against the stone wall near the doorway, she took in at least seven different white towers that were interconnected with ornate ramps and bridges that crisscrossed their way over the roughly worn cavern floor. For a moment she saw a flash of another Dwemer ruin from her journeys as the Dragonborn, the strange glowing light that came from somewhere in the ceiling appearing to be like the light that came from strange giant mushrooms in that other long forgotten place. She couldn't help but feel impressed by the magnitude and beauty of the underground buildings, letting her eyes casually flitter across the maze of bridges in admiration. It was then that she saw them.

"Falmer," she whispered, just loud enough for her two companions to hear as her eyes locked onto the snow elf's unnaturally still form atop the closest of the seven towers. _And where there is one there is always more, _she thought darkly as she followed some of the bridges and quickly located eight more of the creatures keeping their posts like statues frozen in time. _They haven't noticed us yet. Perhaps if I can move slowly,_ she began to think, her foot barely moving from her post when she heard the familiar _swoosh_ of an arrow followed by an angry roar.

Turning quickly, she saw Karliah loading another arrow to finish off the creature, but the damage was done. The Falmer that had been injured was already making his way towards them, his friends calling out to one another and moving from their posts.

"You idiot!" Alor hissed at Karliah as her arrow sang through the air and missed the fast moving creature. "You will get us all killed with your impatient shooting," she finished before darting from the wall and up a nearby ramp, her daggers meeting the rushing Falmer head on.

The snow elf was strong and had height on her as she struck out quickly, only grazing its side as its heavy-armed attacks caused her to have to turn quickly. From behind her she could hear Brynjolf rushing up the ramp, but she didn't pay him any heed as she spun out of the Falmer's reach only to dart under a slow swing of its sword and sink her daggers deep into its belly.

The creature let out a horrible scream as she pulled her blades free, not waiting to see it die as she rushed up the ramp to meet the quickly gathering snow elves. An arrow whistled by from an archer on some unseen platform above her as she twisted her way up and up until she found herself in the first of the towers facing two waiting elves.

Squeezing her daggers, she rushed at her enemies letting her small size and quick movements confuse the creatures as she darted in and out of their reach. It took only a few swipes before she had administered a nasty gash in one of the monsters, finishing it with a sharp arc across its neck in its shock at being injured. Turning abruptly, she managed to narrowly avoid the dead Falmer's partner and instead skewered him with her dagger using a sharp thrust.

Darting off again, she followed the bridge leading from the tower and quickly dispatched the archer who had nearly hit her earlier. _ Damn Falmer!_ she thought angrily as the yells of three more Falmer rang out from a nearby tower. Charging at them, she didn't waste time with blades or stealth. Instead she took in a deep breath, letting the first of the Words she had ever learned play on her tongue until all three of the monsters had nothing but open space guarding their backs.

"FUS RO DAH!" she shouted, the rippling air marking were the force of her voice surged, hitting her marks and sending them crashing down what appeared to be three or four stories.

She didn't wait to hear their screams end as they fell or their bodies to thud against the unforgiving stone below before she set off sprinting again, moving across the bridge into the second tower and then on to the third. _Just don't let them gather, _she pleaded to no god in particular, as she recalled another moment earlier in her life when she and a very unfortunate mercenary had been swarmed by the creatures. Gripping her daggers tighter, she pressed on as hard as she could hoping that wherever the bridges led her that she would only encounter one or two of the deadly monsters.

It wasn't until she reached the fifth tower that she met another Falmer. This one seemed a bit smarter than the earlier ones as it swung its sword at her and backed away quickly so that she wasn't able to get near to its barely armored body. Attempting to circle the creature, she managed to at least get it on the defensive just as Brynjolf came running into the tower, his daggers finding a home in the unprotected back of the unexpecting elf.

"Alright there, lass?" he called out through labored breathing. His brow was covered with sweat though he showed no signs of seeing combat besides the freshly spilled blood at their feet.

"Fine," she answered curtly turning from him as Karliah became visible on the bridge connecting the fourth tower to the fifth. "Let's move quickly before they can regroup and gather. We don't want to face these things in more than twos or threes."

"Right," he answered as she darted off again, making it to the sixth and seventh tower in a matter of minutes without meeting another soul.

It wasn't until she crossed the small tower that she realized they had covered the entire expanse of the cavern. Ahead of her another stone wall loomed with a large ledge jutting out over the stone floor. They were stories higher than they had been when they entered the massive room. Still it wasn't the height or the large golden doors that dug into the walls above the platform that caused her to hesitate slightly, on the ramp leading from the tower; it was the seven massive spiders and the four Falmer that were herding them towards her with angry yells.

Behind her, she heard Brynjolf and Karliah coming into the tower and stopping suddenly at the sight before them. "Azura help us," the white-eyed Dunmer called out as the first of the spiders reached the ramp, its fangs dripping with venom.

"Stay back," Alor yelled, glancing back at the thieves before moving forward.

"No, lass!" Brynjolf called out as she ran towards the giant arachnids, his steps loudly following her.

She ignored him as she felt her throat grow warm and begin to burn and her skin of her face flush with the heat. It was a powerful shout that she had both longed and loathed to use as the flames that would erupt from her mouth would bite at her body and unleash with it the blinding fury that often came with fire. Still, there was no other way. They were out numbered and she was not about to die due to a bunch of thieves. Taking in a deep, cool breath, she let her fire pour from her mouth with a mighty yell. "YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The screams of the spiders and the Falmer were terror-filled, making Alor's heart beat madly. It had been over a year since she let herself feed off the terror of others, letting their screams calm the anxiety in her soul. Yet as she stood still watched the flames wash over her enemies, taking in the agony painted on their melting faces, she felt calm and in control. Closing her eyes to focus on their screams, she barely noticed Brynjolf standing beside her, his hand holding her arm and trying to pull her away from the engulfed creatures. Breathing in the smell of burnt and melting flesh, she let the sense of power and exhilaration of serving Sithis fill her and give her strength.

It wasn't until the cavern quieted and only the smell of death and fire lingered that she came back from the delusion of the void. Blinking away her thoughts, she looked around her to see Karliah retching over the ledge and Brynjolf staring at her in disbelief. "Is that how you escaped Sibbi?" he asked quietly, his eyes holding an edge of fear at what he just saw.

"Yes," she said darkly, her eyes narrowing at the memory of the nasty Nord and his lackeys.

"And that…was a shout?" he asked again, his voice hesitant as he struggled to place the destructive and deadly fire with her life as either an assassin or the Dragonborn.

"Dragon's breathe fire and I have their souls," she answered sternly, tired of the games. "Isn't the Dragonborn a fine thing?" she finished sarcastically, her voice hardening at his senseless reverence at a hero that was nothing more than a very powerful assassin. Just as in Markarth, the Dragonborn he had created in his mind would never mesh with the person she truly was. It was a knowledge that still hurt.

Walking away from the silent Nord, she moved towards the door and listened intently. She wasn't sure if the silence she heard was due to the thickness of the metal or if truly no more snow elves lurked in waiting. Letting out her breath slowly, she pushed open the door without waiting for her companions and moved through as silent as a shadow. In the distance she made out a lone Falmer standing guard of the door at the end of the hall.

_Finish it off before that bitch comes and makes a mess of things, _she commanded herself as she stalked the creature in the darkness of the hall until she was standing directly behind it, her blade cutting its throat before it ever realized she was there.

"Iveri?" came Brynjolf's worried voice as his body blocking the strange light from the massive cavern that had streamed into the dark hall.

"It's clear," she shouted back diplomatically, ignoring the tone of his voice and the unspoken question that her heart begged her to listen to as he ran up to her and grabbed her shoulders roughly.

"Don't run ahead like that, lass. You're going to get yourself killed," he said through thin lips as he frowned at her. "We need you alive if we want to finish this job."

_Of course, he needs me for the Guild_, she thought, her heart sinking after a moment of elation with his words. Pulling away, she moved towards a plain set of doors with a lock that looked recently damaged. "Don't worry, I won't ruin your chances at revenge," she snapped. "Mercer is this way."

Brynjolf stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening as his faced morphed through a strange set of emotions to finally settle on an emotionless visage. "I would say you are right," he replied, touching the lock as Karliah moved towards them. "It seems we are hot on his heels, lass," he said to the older Dunmer.

"Good," she answered enthusiastically, her bow still in her hands. "Let's keep moving."

"Right," the tall Nord answered, grabbing at the door and throwing it open to admit a blinding flash into the blackness of the hall.

Alor blinked rapidly, the golden light hurting after being in the dark for so long. As her eyes adjusted, she took in the a massive golden statue of some sort of elf king who had two enormous gems that glittered in the place of the eyes. _The Eyes of Falmer,_ she thought to herself as she caught herself staring at the things as if she never saw precious stones before.

Tearing her eyes from the stones, she noticed that there was a small clearing below the ledge they stood on with two staircases running up along the sides of the statue and disappearing behind its head. Water had begun to pool in the clearing from one small stream of water trickling from the ceiling where it appeared a Dwemer pipe had broke open. Just as she was about to turn towards her companions to see what their next move is she heard a small gasp from Karliah followed by her shout.

"Mercer!" With that name all of older thief's rage and excitement was evident.

Alor turned back towards the statue to see that indeed Mercer was there. She assumed he must have come from the top of the staircase that disappeared behind the statues head as he was now walking across the crossed arms of the golden relic and reaching for one of the glittering gems.

The Breton turned, noticing them standing on their platform for the first time. "Karliah, when will you learn that you can't get the drop on me?" he called out, plucking the eye from the golden elf and drawing his sword.

The trio moved into the brightly lit room, each with their weapon ready to face the man they all had reason to kill. Alor could sense Karliah's hatred and her desire to sink an arrow into the Breton's thick skull for what he did to her lover and her life. Brynjolf, too, tensed as he held up his blades, his eyes shining his anger over the Guild master's betrayal both in the past and more recently. _This kill is mine, though,_ she thought with a dark grin as she moved forward on the little ledge that hung out over the small unkempt garden that surrounded the gilded feet of the statue.

Just as she was about to tell the thieves to stay back the room began to shake and the sound of metal straining filled her ears. Alor looked around wildly for the source of the disturbance, only to see another one of the massive pipes breaking open and water starting to gush in. The room shook again, throwing her off her feet. A sick falling sensation filled her, stopping as suddenly as it started as she felt her legs hit something hard and unforgiving, a wave of shock running up her left leg followed by searing pain as her eyes went dark and the air was pushed from her lungs.

A small groan escaped her lips as she attempted to shake the stars that covered her vision as the sound of running water filled her ears. Blinking rapidly, she saw that Mercer was walking towards her, a smile painted on his narrow face. Anger and fear filled her as she attempted to lift herself from the ground, only to have a sharp pain shoot through her foot, forcing her to grab the wall to steady herself.

The former Guild Master laughed at her weak position as he slowly approached her, his eyes gleaming with some dark emotion akin to malice. "So you lived? That's a shame."

"Why do you want me dead?" she asked to buy time as she tested her ankle that was swelling painfully in her tight boot.

The Breton hesitated for a moment, his steps slowing as he gave her a hard look. "There was something different about you. Something that just wasn't quite right. When Brynjolf brought you before me I could feel a sudden shift in the wind and my fortune. He had always been such a good and blind second that when he started to act differently because of you…. well, I knew it would end with one of us at the end of a blade. Shame it didn't work the first time."

"I had no reason to ever cross blades with you" she spat, her eyes glancing up towards the ledge only to see how utterly alone she was. Pieces of the stone ceiling seemed to have broken lose and had affectively trapped Karliah and Brynjolf behind them. She could hear them attempting to move the rocks, the pile shifting as a large stone was moved. Turning her head back towards the dangerous Breton she knew that she was on her own and had to move, despite her injury. _I will not die here today,_ she told herself as she slowly began to limp along the wall.

Mercer smiled at her obvious state, his brown eyes making it clear that he was in no hurry to be done with her as he continued his slow pace after her. "I have always believed it's better to strike your enemies before they even know that they are your enemies. How long until you demanded more money? How long until your success made Brynjolf want to see the books or check the vault? No, my little Dunmer, you were dangerous. Eventually something would have exposed my little secret and I was not about to let that happen."

"It doesn't matter now. You didn't finish the job properly the first time so now it is you who will die today, Mercer." She hissed as she limped backwards towards the stairs, the water that was pouring from the ceiling pooling enough that it had begun to lap over the tops of her boots.

"What? You're doing Nocturnal's bidding now? You're following that weak woman's orders?"

"No, this is personal," she answered, slowly putting more weight on her leg as the former Guild master quickened his pace, his smile growing more dangerous and more insulting.

"That it explains it then. Even that Daedra wouldn't accept someone so _useless_ into her little circle," he taunted, his blade ready as she began to move up the steps and out of the ever rising water.

Alor glanced above her again, feeling an edge of anxiety at the lack of progress of her companions. Fixing her glance back on Mercer, she narrowed her eyes and readied herself for a fight. "Nocturnal can be damned for all I care. I come for your blood. Sithis demands it," she snarled.

Mercer's smile faltered a bit as he followed her up the steps, "An assassin? Really? Now that _is_ interesting." He finished holding his blade up. "But Brotherhood or not, the die has been cast and my blade will once again taste your _Nightingale_ blood!"

His sword darted out with a speed she didn't expect from him, both of her hands rising up so that her daggers barely managed to block his strike. She felt her heart burst into action and a surge of energy fill her as she quickened her speed and continued backing away from his quick attacks. _I need to be back against a wall,_ she thought quickly, realizing in open combat in her injured state she would be no match for the experienced swordsman. Dodging another strike, she made her legs move despite the pain up even higher until she was level with the statue's crossed arms.

"Hold still!" he yelled at her, the anger burning in his eyes as he brought his sword down at her head, a strangled yell leaving his lips.

"You have no idea who you are dealing with, Mercer!" she taunted as she met his blow with the edges of her daggers so that they sandwiched his blade. Twisting her arm, she threw his body off balance and was able to half-lunge, half fall towards him, her blades just barely missing his kin.

"Foolish girl!" he yelled, moving back down the steps and into water, which was had covered at least a third of steps and was rising quickly. Moving after him with an awkward limp, she ducked under a hard swing of his sword, only to rise and quickly block another fast strike. She felt the vibrations from the impact of his metal on her daggers ring through her arms as her adversary equally matched in skill and cunning drew his sword back for another attack.

And so it continued for several long, dreadful minutes as the water rose and they both did their best to strike down the other. Slowly the moved back up the stairs, Mercer backing her onto the arms of the Falmer statue, his thrusts and swings becoming angrier and more erratic. It took all of her strength and concentration to block his heavy sword with her two daggers making her wish for the first time that Karliah and Brynjolf were with her and not still moving rocks uselessly on a ledge.

"Why won't you die?" Mercer yelled at her as he arced his blade down towards her head, her body turning quickly into the statue while her daggers caught his sword between them. Using the golden metal of the enormous elf for support, she pushed all of her weight into her arms as she attempted to tear his weapon from his hands and into the water.

For a moment things seemed to stand still as Mercer clutched at the twisting handle of his sword and Alor continued to drive it down. Looking up, she met his eyes and saw panic just as his blade escaped his grip and flew into the rising water below them. Darting forward, she threw herself on him and brought her daggers to his throat. "I won't die because it was your name the Night Mother whispered, not mine!" she hissed as her blade slipped through his skin and his hot blood ran over her hands and down out of his mouth.

"Another to void," she whispered as she watched the last bit of breath bubble through Mercer's blood filled throat and his eyes to go dull. Sitting back, she closed her eyes, letting the feeling of the dead thief's blood that had seeped through her gloves calm her heart and mind. For a moment she was able to ignore the pain in her leg and the sound of rushing water as she let the feeling of satisfaction and victory fill her.

"Lass, are you alright?" came Brynjolf's voice from somewhere faraway, her mind slowly returning to her surroundings as her eyes snapped open. Looking around she noticed that the water had reached the height of the statue's arms and was quickly moving towards where she sat.

"The door is stuck! We can't get out!" Karliah's voice shouted over the noise of the water.

"There has to be another way out," Brynjolf called back.

Alor sighed, as a feeling of weariness filled her. _Why is living always such a damn struggle,_ she thought bitterly. She had just barely managed to better Mercer only to find out that they were trapped in a room filling with water. Leaning her head back against the statue, she let her eyes move towards the ceiling as she let out another large breath. It was then that she noticed the large hole that had been most likely made when the rocks fell. Pushing herself up, she stared at it, trying to see where it went.

"There's a hole in the ceiling," she yelled out, as the water reached where she had been sitting and soon was covering her feet, followed quickly by her ankles.

Brynjolf looked where she was pointing and gave a shout. "We're saved! All we have to do is swim up into it."

Karliah began to say something, but Alor didn't pay any attention as she looked back at Mercer's floating body. Reaching down, she grabbed the bag that he had strapped across his chest and threw it over her head. In the distance she could hear the splashes of her companions falling into the water that was now up to her waist while she let her hand feel around the small sack.

"Come on, lass. We have to be ready to swim!" Brynjolf called as the water rose higher and higher, but Alor ignored him as she felt the smooth edges of the Falmer's eye. Shifting, she felt two small vials, which she quickly grasped and pulled out to see what they were.

"Alor!" Brynjolf called again, his voice sounding panicked as she remained where she was despite the water reaching her chest.

"Well I'll be…" she whispered as she stared at both healing potion and one of invisibility. Quickly uncorking the first, she swallowed down the bitter mix and immediately felt the swelling reduce in her leg while a plan began to form in her mind.

"Lass!" Brynjolf called again as the water rose high enough that she was forced to start kicking.

"Coming!" she yelled back, clutching the invisibility potion as she swam towards them. _Just get out of the water and then you are free,_ she added to herself.

"What were you doing?" the Nord asked her as she reached him, his eyes wide with worry as his large hand grabbed her arm so as to support her.

"Nothing," she answered quickly, her scarlet eyes meeting his for just a moment before darting away in uncertainty. There was a look in his that had once been familiar and welcoming, but now it only confused and frustrated her. Tightening her grip on the small potion, she pushed away her doubts and focused on the rising water and the small hole that would hopefully lead to her escape.

Brynjolf looked as if he was about to say something more, his mouth opening just as the water pushed them up and started to cover their heads. Alor glanced at him one last time before taking a deep breath and pulling from his grasp, her legs and arms kicking towards the nearby opening in the ceiling.

Pulling herself from the water, she was happy to find herself in a long hallway. Without a second thought she let her feet carry her down into its darkness just as Karliah's loud gasping could be heard from the hole, followed quickly by Brynjolf's. _Let there be a way out,_ she thought as she started to run, the Nord's voice growing more muffled the further she got.

Pressing on, it only was a few minutes before the hallway ended and with a small door. Reaching out, she pulled it opened and felt a cool breeze hit her face and the bright light of the two moons hurt her eyes. "Thank Sithis," she laughed as she stepped out of the ruin and onto a ledge that was cut into the mountainside.

Moving towards a path, she ignored the growing voices of the thieves, her hand popping the cork off Mercer's potion and lifting it to her mouth as she fled from the her duty to the Guild, Nocturnal, and Brynjolf.


	47. The End

**AN: Sorry for the wait. Please let me know what you think with a review!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 46<strong>

Byrnjolf's pulse thudded loudly in his ears as the cold shock of the water mixed with his surging adrenaline brought his instincts to an alerted high. For a moment it felt as though he could take in and process his entire world, quickly accessing it to be free of further danger. It was only then that his exhaustion seemed to suddenly creep up and destroy the muffled blanket over his sense.

"Damn it's cold," he said carelessly as a frigid breeze filled the hall.

"I'm going to be sick," Karliah moaned, her body curling into itself as she heaved up what had to have been several large gulps of water.

"There, there lass," Brynjolf soothed, kneeling next to her with the sort of care he extended to all of his thieves. "Better out than in."

The older thief waved him off as she continued to retch, leaving him to take in their surroundings. They were in a dark tunnel that had little in the way of craftsmanship, the walls crudely chiseled and lacking any of the Dwemer designs of the rest of the ruin. As he peered down the empty corridor a feeling unease filled him. _Where is Iveri?_

"Alor?" he called out into the darkness, only to hear his voice echo and die on the stony walls. "Alor?" he shouted louder but only received silence as a reply.

"Where is she?" Karliah coughed out in a scratchy voice.

"She's gone," he answered, shock and emptiness filling him with the realization. "She's gone!"

"What?" the older thief said, standing up quickly despite the uneven movements of her legs. "No, she couldn't have."

"She's not here," he answered.

"No," she whispered darkly, her small fists pounding on the floor. "No, this cant be happening. Not again. I can't lose that key again!"

"Calm down, Karliah," Brynjolf said quickly, walking down the hall towards what appeared to be a door leading to the outside. "She may not even have it."

"Then why would she leave?" the elf snapped, pulling herself up and brushing past his slower pace. "That key opens any lock. A useful tool for a thief or an assassin."

"Before we jump to conclusions, maybe we should check Mercer's body," he pressed, ignoring Karliah's dogged expression as she moved outside.

"You can go if you think it's necessary, I'm going to follow her tracks," she replied, giving him a dark look. "We need that key!"

"Fine," he replied, his frustration over the entire situation building. "I'll go check."

Karliah gave him an equally frustrated look as she started to track a few small indentations in the dusting of snow that covered the mountain's ridge under the bright glow of the moons. Shaking his head, he went back into the ruin towards the room he had just left.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered as he stared at the hole that was slowly gurgling up water into the passage. _But it's for the Guild_, he thought as he took a deep breath and jumped back into the flooded room.

The water was cold, but after a moment he barely noticed it. Opening his eyes, he quickly located Mercer's floating form and kicked towards it. He grabbed the old Guild Master's arm and quickly swam back towards the hole, letting the still rising water push him up and out of the opening with less effort than the first time.

"Now let's see what you have on you," he mumbled after pulling the body out after him. Luckily, Mercer was wearing very simple gear with only a small bag at his side. It took less than a minute to go through every pocket and the bag only to come up with nothing.

_What did you do, lass?_ He wondered with a sinking feeling as he realized Karliah had to be right. Alor was digging around in Mercer's bag before swimming out of the hole. She must have taken the key when she ran off.

Moving back towards the door and out into the Skyrim wilderness, he quickly found Karliah a few paces down the path. "Did you find it?" she asked anxiously, her light eyes immediately reading on his face that he hadn't.

"Which way did she go?" Brynjolf asked, dreading what he knew must come next.

"Her tracks stop here," the elf answered, pointing towards the ground. "Or at least the last I can see before they are mixed in with a horse's."

"A horse was here? That can't be her," he replied.

"I saw her call a horse to her once," Karliah said quickly, giving him a significant look. "And these tracks are headed South."

"South," he said again, mentally picturing what roads lay south and the multitude of roads that she could have taken. "Well if she is on the horse and if she stays on the road, she could go anywhere in Skyrim."

"Brynjolf, we have to find that key. If we don't, not only will we have to face Nocturnal's anger, but the Guild will continue to suffer. You know what is at stake."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"Think of where she would go and then check there. If she's not there try somewhere else!"

"Why me?" he asked, "Why don't you go?"

"Because I don't know her like you do. I don't know where she will go, but you do. Besides, one of us has to return to Nocturnal and explain what has happened."

"And you want to do that alone?" he asked surprised.

"If she's going to be angry, let it be at me. You are only involved in this because of me and I won't let you take the fall," she said giving him a dark look. "Now find her and find her fast."

"Alright," he answered grimly. "I will find her."

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><p>It had been nearly four weeks since leaving the ruin and Brynjolf was still empty handed. He went first to Solitude to see if she was in the great manor he had once stolen from. Then, he traveled to Markarth, hoping to find her somewhere there. Coming up empty handed, he thought of where else she might be. The obvious choice was Dawnstar, but he wanted to avoid that place and the frightening vampire child that he had met more than he would have liked for as long as possible. <em>There is Whiterun,<em> he finally conceded, recalling the house of a mysterious Thane that he had robbed with her in what seemed like another life.

_Thane, Dragonborn, assassin, thief_, he thought darkly as he started the week long journey back towards a city that had been the true start to their relationship and all the memories and emotions that came with it.

His pace was slowed by his tumultuous thoughts, most of them involving his conflicting emotions towards Alor and just what he might have to do in order to retrieve the Skeleton Key.

_Could I actually kill her?_ He has asked himself repeatedly, knowing that it was a very logical conclusion to the entire affair. When he thought of the Guild and its status and the lies that had come between them he truly believed he could. It would be reducing a threat to his adopted family and bring them back into the prosperity and power they had lacked for years.

Yet it was only moments after feeling resolved in his plan he would remember her smile and the way she made him feel when they were together. He could see her weaknesses and the dark memories that pushed her towards a life he couldn't even begin to understand. It was then that he doubted he could give the finishing blow should it come down to it.

_She might not even be in Whiterun,_ he reasoned with himself as the city slowly crept into view. _She could have gone anywhere._ _She could be halfway to Cyrodiil too, _he thought grimly. _Then what becomes of the Guild?_ He finished, pushing down the other accompanying thought of _what will become of me?_

"This is just a job," he told himself as the city grew larger on the horizon. "You can do this like you've done every other job."

_But do you want to do this?_ He asked himself as he approached the gates of the city in the dying light of the day. _Do you really want to find her and confront her?_

The answer was both yes and no. There was something in him that hated the idea of being around the woman that had broken his heart, but after the time they spent together in the ruin…well, he just didn't know anymore. Something had stirred in him when he had seen her, something that he thought had died but in reality was lying dormant, waiting for them to meet again. It was a cruel twist of fate that they would be thrown together and make him question his resolve.

_Are you really going to do this?_ He asked again as he moved amongst the houses of the city, looking at their names until he found the one that he remembered belonging to the Dragonborn, a house he had robbed _with_ the Dragonborn.

"She might not even be here," he mumbled to himself as he peeked in the windows, happy to see it was dark inside without a sound indicating that someone was there. No matter what was good for the Guild or not, he dreaded meeting her again like this.

_Maybe she will be happy to see you,_ he thought despite his head telling him it wouldn't be the case. _Maybe she is just as conflicted as you._

Moving back to the door he examined the locks. They were the same as the last time he was at the house and would be easy to pick. _Are you sure about this, Bryn?_ He asked himself one final time before inserting his picks and maneuvering them with masterful ease until the door made a satisfying click. It was then just the simple step of opening the door silently and slipping inside.

It was dark, which was no surprise from what he had seen from the windows, but he was slightly shocked at the disarray of the main room. The wallpaper was shredded, exposing the bare wood beneath while broken furniture lay precariously about the room. Even the stairs that lined one wall looked like they would be traitorous to climb.

Glancing about the cobweb filled room, taking in the layers of dust that covered everything he was just beginning to doubt his gut when his hand was suddenly jerked behind him and a cool blade was pressed up to his throat.

"Who are you?" a young man's voice asked.

Brynjolf held his breath, assessing what had just happened. _He must have been in the corner by the door_, he realized, cursing himself for not checking his blind spots before entering the house fully. But before he could determine just how dire his situation was the man holding him tightened his grasp and made in impatient noise.

"I'm Brynjolf, of Riften," he answered carefully, doing his best not to move as the sharp edge of the blade pressed into his skin.

"And why are you here?" the voice said again, determination lining it.

"I came to find Alor," he answered, feeling there was no reason to hide the truth considering it was her house. _Unless this is just some beggar or bandit_, he thought, but immediately dismissed it as the man seemed too disciplined for a normal crook. _No, this is Brotherhood all right._

"Alor?" the man replied, his voice losing some of its authority and becoming more like a boy's than a man's. "I don't know who that is."

"Don't lie now, lad," Brynjolf said easily, deciding confidence would be the best way to see if his hunch was right. "I know Alor and what she is. She should be expecting me."

"Expecting you?" the voice said, slightly confused though not loosening his hold. "Why would she be expecting you?"

"Ah, so she _is _here!" he said slyly, feeling the man's grasp loosen momentarily before tightening again. "Just be a good lad and fetch her for me. Like I said, she will be expecting me."

"I'm not letting you go," the boy said, his voice now sounding younger than it had even a moment before.

_Probably barely out of his teens_, Brynjolf thought with a small smile. He was always good at persuading people to do what he wanted and with someone so young, it would only take a little more pushing. "Well, lad, if you don't then we will sit here for a very long time."

"Not if I cut your throat," the boy replied, his voice darkening, making Brynjolf hesitate in his plan.

"I doubt Alor would be very happy with you if you did that," he said carefully, unsure if that would actually be the case. "If I wasn't suppose to be here do you think I would even know to look for her here?"

Silence fell between them, the boy's grip shifting but remaining tight. Brynjolf could almost feel him thinking, hesitating in what to do with the large Nord that had snuck over the threshold. Though, large as he may be, he was not ready to face a trained assassin with little more than his daggers, especially when more may be lying in wait in the shadows.

For a moment, things seemed to hang in the balance when the prickling sense of energy came from behind him, marking the use of magic. A small sense of panic began to fill him as his mistrust of anything arcane had been ingrained in him as a child. _What have I gotten myself into, _he began to wonder as a loud tearing sound filled the small house.

"Argh," a deep, ethereal voice groaned as the house filled with a strange blue-white light. A small silence fell when suddenly a ghost, shrouded in a hood and holding a small blade moved in front of him. "I have grown restless in the Void. As has my blade."

"Lechance," the boy called out in his more manly voice. "Fetch Alor. Tell her we have an intruder demanding to see her."

"Errands? You summon _me _for errands?" the ghost replied. "The air is too pure. The Void demands payment. Yet you want an errand rather than filling this place with the scent of blood?"

"Just _go_," the boy said, his voice returning to its younger tones, the desperation becoming clear.

The ghost seemed to sigh before disappearing into the floor and leaving the room to silence. Brynjolf was happy at first for it to go and take its prickling energy with it, but as time passed and Alor didn't appear, he could sense the boy was starting to panic. _And with panic comes stupid decisions_, he thought as the blade moved slightly, drawing a thin line of blood from his neck.

Just when he felt it was about time to try his luck and break free from the boy a grating sound was heard from the center of the room as the hearth rolled back, revealing a trap door. The room filled with the blue-white light as the ghost assassin appeared followed by a small, lean frame covered in red and black armor. Although masked, he could make out the red hue of her eyes that couldn't hide her shock, anger, and some other strange emotion that he couldn't make out.

"Aventus?" she asked, her eyes avoiding his as she drew her weapon and moved towards the boy.

"He said you would be expecting him," the boy started, sounding like a child caught with a stolen sweet roll. "I didn't know what to do."

"Clearly you did," Alor answered coldly, moving towards Brynjolf and placing a single finger on the blade. "Your instincts told you that no one comes to here unless already a brother. What is it that made you stay your blade?"

"He said –" the boy called Aventus started before Alor held up a hand to silence him.

"That's just it, you let him speak. You let him use his words to doubt your instincts and your training."

"Alor," Brynjolf finally cut in, unable to take the cold nature she was tutoring what was obviously a student in what should have been _his_ death. "It's just me. You know me. I'm not a threat."

The little Dunmer let out a snort, her hands resting on her hips as the confidence of being an assassin on her home turf showed him the nature of her power that she had shown on a few occasions as a thief. "Brynjolf, let's not kid ourselves. You are more dangerous than anyone else. You know too much and you proved that by showing up here."

The words hit him like ice, removing the unfounded hope that she would be happy to see him or at least apathetic to seeing him. Even that would be better than her saying she wanted his blood. "Alor, please," he whispered, his hurt dying pathetically with his barely audible words.

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes now under her control so that they showed nothing. "Leave us," she said finally, breaking the tension that had filled the room.

"You would let an intruder leave unharmed?" the ghost asked in shock.

"I said _leave us_," she hissed, staring at the ghost and the boy. "NOW!"

Aventus and his ghost seemed to almost shrink at her shout as they moved towards the trap door and disappeared without another word. Brynjolf watched the scene with a surreal sense of being a spectator. If it weren't for the dull ache in his arm where it was released and the stinging of his throat, he might not have believed any of this was happening.

"What are you doing here, Brynjolf?" Alor finally asked, her hand spinning a small dagger as she stared him down, her eyes narrowing under their mask.

"To find you," he answered, not sure how to answer her now that she was showing the more menacing side of her personality. _Dragonborn, thief, assassin_, he thought, trying to understand the woman he had once loved blindly.

"Why? Why were you trying to find me?"

He looked at her for a moment, unsure of how to answer. Obviously, there was the matter of the guild and the Skeleton Key that he could only trust she had taken off of Mercer's body. But was that truly all there was? _No, _he thought as he remembered the strange feeling of completeness that filled him when he felt he had been caring for her wounds so long ago. He remembered seeing the crack in her harsh demeanor and the need he had burned with to give both her and himself the thing that was most important in this world, a family. Looking back up at her, he couldn't find a way to say what it was that he was thinking, what he was feeling.

For the first time, she looked him in the eye, making him ache for her even more as he saw what he could only imagine were similar feelings in her own eyes. Yet, as the silence grew her stance became more rigid and her hand suddenly gripped the dagger tightly, ready to attack. "Figures," she said, glaring at him from under her hood. "It's the Guild, isn't it? You're here for the fucking Guild."

"Alor," he started, his stomach turning as she turned away from. "Alor, you have to listen to me –" he stopped midsentence as a whoosing noise rang by his head followed by a dull thud behind him.

Turning, he felt shudder run through him at the sight of Alor's dagger embedded deep into the wooden wall, just a hair away from where he standing. "I don't want to hear anything more from you, Brynjolf." She hissed, walking towards him. "I listened to you once before and then you sold me to a bunch of thugs, knowing full well that they would kill me. And now you think that just because that bitch hooked me into finishing some business that I have _any_ interest in seeing _you_?" she finished, her body mere inches from his as she glared up into his face.

He could almost taste her anger as he unthinkingly moved his hands so they rested on her small shoulders. Her eyes widened at the intimate motion, her rigid body reminding him that it hadn't been since before Karliah's return that he had really touched her. It sent his heart racing and a small yearning fill him as his mind quickly recalled the curves of her body and the feeling of her lips against his.

Her muscles twitched under his hands, giving away that she was about to pull away from him. Somewhere deep inside of him, he knew that if he let her go he would never touch her again. Doing the only logical thing, he held her tighter and pulled her towards him.

She let out a small gasp of surprise as he boldly grabbed her hood and threw it back, her torso spinning to break from him. Normally, he would have stopped. He would have let her go, but with not only his Guild and his life on the line, he pressed on, following his heart as he found the ties to her mask and undid it easily, exposing her face.

"Lass," he breathed out, his eyes locking on to hers. She stilled for a moment, her free arm held ready to strike him as her face morphed from anger to confusion and back again. But it was enough to push him forward. He could no longer deny what his body ached for and what his heart wanted, his reason and commonsense be damned.

Moving towards her, he pushed his lips against hers, not caring that his stubble would cut into her skin as he forced his tongue into her mouth. He heard her gasp and felt her struggle to pull away, but he had the advantage of height and strength, easily allowing him to keep her pushed up against him as he continued to kiss her.

He felt her body shake under his embrace and could even hear her heart racing. It drove him mad knowing that he had pushed her away, no matter how good the reason. He needed her and he needed her now.

Acting on his impulses, he moved his hands towards the edge of her armor, moving a finger under the tight leather cuirass when suddenly her hand latched on to his hair and pulled it violently.

"Ah!" he cried out as her arm continued to pull, jerking his head while her foot made contact with his legs, sweeping them under him. It wasn't until he landed roughly on his back that he realized he had even had fallen.

Alor stared down at him, her eyes sparkling scarlet as her face remained a stony mask. He attempted to pull himself up, sensing danger when she pounced at him, knocking him back to the ground, her hands digging painfully into his wrists while her knees dug into his hips. He tried to wriggle free, but she seemed to be able to move her body weight to her advantage with each of his moves, her face inching closer and closer to him until he could feel her lips hovering over his. A small groan escaped his lips as her hot breath floated over his face, his body moving for an entirely different reason than just moments before.

"Why did you come back?" she whispered again, her voice hoarse as she leaned towards him, giving him the freedom to move his legs should he want to.

"Isn't it obvious?" he breathed back, barely able to keep his voice steady as the truth of everything that he was feeling became so simple and clear. Without further thinking or doubting he said what felt right, what _had_ to be right. "I came for you."

A small moan escaped her as she suddenly pushed her lips against his, her mouth open and demanding his attention. Feeling her hands loosen on his, he quickly pulled away from her grasp and wrapped his thick arms around her tiny body, his mouth meeting hers in a feverish passion.

Holding her close to him, he let his hands fell her back and move lower, a tingling sensation building under his clothes as his excitement grew. With a groan, he rolled her over onto her back and let his hands find the edge of her leather pants and began to work them down her legs without letting her lips leave his. Doing the same to himself, he moved quickly to join with her, his body shaking as it met resistance that slowly gave way to his motions.

It was hard and fast, their bodies moving in synergy while their lips and hands greedily pulled at each other. Almost as quickly as it had started he felt his body shudder and jerk to a stop, electricity running through his spine as he collapsed spent on top of her.

"Iveri," he whispered, looking down at the woman he still loved despite all that she had done and all the anger he had felt for her. In that moment none of it seemed to matter. He was where he was suppose to be. "I've missed you."

Her hand moved up to his face, brushing a sweaty lock of red hair from his face. She sighed and shut her eyes, letting her hands play with his hair. "I've missed you too," she finally answered.

He smiled down at her and kissed her deeply, unwilling to roll to her side and ruin the closeness he had once thought permanently lost. For a long time they laid there in the dust and dirt of the Whiterun house, only feet away from a door into a den of vipers. But it didn't matter where they were, only that they were together.

"I suppose you'll want the key, then?" Alor finally asked, pulling away from their kiss with a small, playful smile.

He gave her a small look, but only kissed her in response. She made a small laughing noise and wrapped her arms around him. "Well, I don't have it here."

"I guess that just means I'll have to come back for it," he mumbled, his lips finding her neck and making her laugh as his beard tickled her throat.

"Mmm, yes, you will," she replied, her hands running down his back. "Unfortunately you might find me very forgetful."

Brynjolf smiled at the elf, the sense of completeness that had left him with the loss of his family finally returning. "Well, lass, I am a _very_ persistent man…" he trailed off, letting his lips return to hers. He didn't know what the future would hold, but he had a feeling that everything was finally going to go his way.


End file.
